


Comfort A Little Dream Eng

by Lunalalune



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, dream - Freeform, drust - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunalalune/pseuds/Lunalalune
Summary: "Dream hiccupped, trembling, trying to repress those filthy thoughts, those thoughts that terrified him. But he was unable to fight back. Not while Ink was in Error's hands, wounded and unarmed. Not while all the BadSanses surrounded him, ready to react to his every move."
Comments: 20
Kudos: 130





	1. [Broken dreams fade into the night]

**Author's Note:**

> This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.
> 
> This is a translation of my French text, feel free to let me know if there are any errors!

The atmosphere had become heavy, heavy, unbearable, while Nightmare's hoarse voice hit him hard.

**\- What have you done for Cross' world? Or for any of the universes we've destroyed?** -

She insinuated herself into him, embraced his soul, squeezed it until it cracked.

**\- What have you done for your world? What have you done for your own brother?** -

Dream hiccupped, trembling, trying to repress those filthy thoughts, those thoughts that terrified him. But he was unable to fight back. Not while Ink was in Error's hands, wounded and unarmed. Not while all the BadSanses surrounded him, ready to react to his every move. 

And Nightmare's voice rumbled again, forcing the young skeleton to lower his eyes, looking for some meager comfort in his fallen crown.

**\- Nothing! Your role as a guardian is just a trick, a poor way to give you importance!** –

The crown shattered. Dream watched in horror as she was shattered, unable to believe that his brother could have done such a thing. Unable to believe... to believe that... 

The sniggering of the others without reaching his ears, petrifying him with anguish, while his eyes were bathed in tears. 

**\- YOU'RE NOTHING!** -

Dream fell to his knees. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! He was useful! He was the keeper... the keeper of... He was the... he was...

His empty gaze wandered through the assembly. Dream didn't understand. No, no, no, he didn't understand! He shouldn't feel that way! He struggled, he forced himself never to feel that way! He was a keeper of positive emotions, he couldn't break down, he had no right, he couldn't feel... feel... ! 

But the negative emotions took hold of him with deceit, with an incredible violence that penetrated his soul and cracked it a little more every second. His discomfort only increased more as he felt the storm growling, growing inside him. Guilt, anger, regret, torment, pain, PAIN!

 **“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!** ”

His terror twisted his skull, his scream tore the atmosphere, froze space, petrified time in an instant of pure suffering.

“ **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!** ”

His throat seemed to tear, as if scratched from the inside, scratched by his harsh voice, strangled by the horror and disgust he felt towards himself. The weight on his shoulders, which had been too heavy for a long time, finally crushed and suffocated him. He grabbed his skull, his eyes wide open with horror, scratching himself violently without being aware of it, without paying the slightest attention to what was around him. 

“ **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!** ”

Nightmare was wrong, he wasn't guilty, he did his best! He had helped people, supported them, gave them hope! He had made others dream, he had made them smile, and although he couldn't save the world from Cross, he had helped the Monochrome recover from this ordeal, to mourn and move forward! 

... But that wasn't enough, was it? That kind of thing... that kind of help, support... anyone could do it. It wasn't that hard to reach out, to offer good feelings to others. Nightmare, the nightmare master himself, was able to do it. He'd done it with the Bad Sanses, given them a home and become their new family.

**\- Actually that's what's bothering you** -

He froze, his scream choking in his throat.

**\- What bothers you is to be just one of many people, to do nothing exceptional** -

His orbits became empty, he stopped breathing.

**\- What bothers you is being loved and worshipped more than you should. It's being admired for nothing** -

He thought he perceived a sneer, a cruel and mocking snigger that stuck sharp claws along his bones.

**\- Ever since you were a kid, you've known you didn't deserve this admiration. You know that it should have been your brother who benefited from it. Because he worked hard. Because he made real efforts, real plans, real connections** -

He hadn't realized that the world had been transformed, that Ink, his brother, the bad sanses had disappeared, replaced by an infinite void, a void heavier than anything he had ever known before.

He was the only one left. Only him.

Him and his conscience.

And she laughed painfully in his face, telling him a truth that he refused to hear, that he refused to accept. 

**\- It's your aura that gave you everything** -

He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling of his room as if he was discovering it for the first time. His sight disturbed by the tears gave him a terrible burning sensation, as did most of his body. But he didn't move. He didn't observe himself. He didn't need to observe himself to be aware of his condition, to know that he had done it again that night.

He'd had another nightmare. His soul missed a beat. The last sentence of his consciousness was gently resonating in his mind, reminding him of the smallest details of this bad dream.

He choked a sob, felt his stomach twist violently, and had only just to turn around to the ledge before vomiting the contents of his previous meal, filling the room with the awful sound of regurgitation. A taste of foul acid seized his puck, the foul odor caught him in his gut and he thought he was ready to vomit a second time.

He didn't. Instead he had a violent coughing fit, grabbed his shirt at the place of his soul, felt his whole being boil, burn it. As in his dream, his throat seemed to be torn open, assailing him with a sharp pain, pushing him to sob again in spite of the self-control he was trying to show.

The little salty drops came to slide down his cheeks, fell to the ground and mingled with the vile puddle he had created. He closed his eyes. He was in pain.

[ **He felt bad** ]

He coughed again, tried to muffle the noise by putting a hand over his mouth, as if disturbed the silence of his home was a crime of great magnitude, as if he was afraid of waking anyone. But there was no one to wake up.

[ **Unlike Nightmare, he lived alone.** ]

He curled up on himself, feeling suffocated, strangled by his cough and sobs. His mouth filled with a new taste, a taste that disgusted him as much as bile. A metallic taste that made him open his eyes again, look at his hand.

He lives with horror his phalanges covered with a sticky, reddish liquid. Covered with his blood.

His trembling body fell back against the sheets and he came and clutched his pillow, plunged his face into it, bit the cover without worrying about the marks he left on it. His cold sweats made him tense up even more and for the umpteenth time he closed his eyes, both really and metaphorically.

For the umpteenth time he repeated the lie he had told himself over and over again:

“I'm fine…”

* * *

The impact was painful, the creak was sinister. Dream knew without hesitation that he had broken a rib. It was only a small surprise: he knew what to expect from the moment he threw himself into the fight. 

Ink had come looking for him in panic, begging for his help as Error destroyed an AU. Normally, the Creator liked to fight singular battles against the Destroyer, but this time he couldn't do anything alone: the Bad Sanses were also part of the party and, as strong as the painter was, he couldn't do anything in front of a whole group, especially if Nightmare was present.

Dream couldn't refuse. He never refused anything, least of all to those he loved. Because Ink was one of the most loved people in the world. He was his best friend.

But they were outnumbered by their enemies, and despite some of their ploys that had put Killer, Horror and Dust out of action for a limited time, there were still Error, Nightmare and Cross to stand up to them. Ink naturally came to oppose his opposite, taking up the bad habit of joking and playing cat and mouse with him, leaving poor Dream facing his brother and Cross.

**[Best friends, huh...?]**

But Nightmare wasn't fighting. He had gratified the guardian of dreams with a mocking and haughty look before simply joining his subordinates to free them.

“Cross, we don't have to fight! cried Dream, narrowly dodging a blade stroke. 

\- You know I do!”

They were friends. Dream had supported him, helped him grieve. Helped him to move on and get back to positive emotions. But even so, Cross had returned to Nightmare: " _There must be some good in him,_ " the swordsman had said when Dream had told him and his twin their story. _"You said it yourself: he lived a horrible life, rejected by everyone, full of hatred against everyone_ . _So I want to do with him what you have done for me: I want to help him, to help him to enjoy life, to be positive, to be happy."_

And Cross had succeeded. With the help of the other Bad Sanses, he had succeeded where Dream had failed: to give Nightmare back some joy, to teach him to smile again. He had felt it, he had felt his twin emitting positive emotions again, even if he only showed them to his subordinates. 

Dream wanted to throw up.

A final attack between him and Cross caused them both to retreat before they took up their respective weapons, allowing themselves a short pause to catch their breath.

But the guard heard that little voice again. That vicious voice that drove him mad, that drove him crazy telling him everything he did not want to hear:

**\- Cross will never come back to you, you know why -**

**\- Ink left you for his beloved enemy, you know why -**

**\- You know very well why -**

“... Shut up…”

It was just a whisper, a feeble attempt to cover up. It's always the same old story, isn't it? You'd think he couldn't move on. Wasn't it ironic, the guardian of positivity telling everyone to look to the future while he himself was clinging to a false past?

**\- That's how Dream is. You can't change who you are. You have this aura, this aura that makes others feel good when they're around you** -

His body petrified.

“Shut up.”

It was firmer, but still insufficient.

**\- That should make you happy, that's why everyone's attracted to you, why everyone wants you by their side** -

“Shut…”

**\- A beautiful illusion, as much for the others as for you. Isn't it, Dr... ?** -

“ **SHUT UP!** ”

His cry echoed through the ruined Universe, echoed back and echoed back only more violently against him. He shuddered, let go of his bow to grasp his arms, to hold them against his trembling body, to cower as if it were the only way to protect himself.

He gritted his teeth, empty sockets stuck in the snow he couldn't see. All he perceived was his own terror.

“Dream?!”

Cross had taken a step in his direction, unsettled and confused by the sudden fear that had taken hold of him. 

“What's going on? Is everything okay?”

**\- He attacks you and then asks you if you're okay. I've come to wonder if he's not laughing at you** -

No, not Cross. Cross never made fun of him. He was kind, helpful, humorous. He was a... He was a... 

**\- He serves your brother of his own free will, but sometimes he comes back to you for comfort** -

Dream widened his eyes. Cross came a little closer.

How many times has this happened? When Nightmare hadn't softened yet, when Cross was trying to bring him back on the right side and he was starting to despair, how many times had he come to find Dream? How many times had the little guardian encouraged him, dried his tears?

**\- You're only good at comforting others, aren't you? –**

**\- Not just Cross. –**

**\- Blueberry, Ink ... even the Bad Sanses that you protected many times from the fury of your brother, even your brother that you continued to protect and refused to kill during your confrontations. You've always been there for them, you've always done your best. But them? What have they done for you?** -

“Dream, answer me!”

**\- Who helped you when Nightmare petrified you?** -

Cross put one hand on his shoulder.

**\- Who supports you in your night terrors?** -

He crouches at his height, letting his guard down.

**\- Nobody** -

 **\- Because you mean nothing to anyone** -

...

The earth shook with the violence of the shock. The din of the skull smashed against the ground froze every particle, froze the fight of Ink and Error, froze the Bad Sanses and Nightmare. 

There was... ...nothing. For a few seconds it was absolute calm. Dream stood there, raised up, arms outstretched as he held the end of his bow between his palms. trembling. The half-open mouth, a drop of sweat beading down his temple, his pupilless orbits only amplified a little more the shadow that appeared on his face, only made the absence of emotion on his features more terrifying. 

Until these features change, until these pupils slowly reappear, until they watch in fright at Cross' unconscious body, his cracked skull, his blood escaping from his wound. The same blood that was found at the other end of the bow, the end with which Dream had struck.

“CROSS!!”

Nightmare's panicked scream brought him out of his trance. He raised his head.

Everybody was looking at him. The Bad Sanses, Ink... Everyone was looking at him with this feeling that no one had ever had before. This feeling that Dream hated so much, that made him tremble and retreat, away from the body of the one he had considered his friend until then. 

[ **Watching him in terror** ]

[ **We were afraid of him.** ]

“D ... Dream?” stuttered Ink, unable to believe what the gentle guardian of dreams had just done, the supposedly sweetest, most innocent monster of the multiverse.

Something crumbled. Something firmly anchored in Dream's rib cage. His throbbing little soul, hidden in plain sight, painfully cracked.

Dream's gaze returned to Cross and little by little his expression changed as he became aware of his act.

His magic enveloped him vividly, teleporting him as he perceived Ink's cry trying to restrain him. 

He reappeared at home, fell on the living room table which he broke in his fall, screamed in front of the pain of the impact, felt his breath cut off in front of the suffering of his cracked side. 

**[He'd hit Cross]**

He leaned on his hands, stood up with short breath, looked at the tips of his fingers, his fingers that had held the weapon.

**[He could have killed Cross]**

He watched his bow fall to the ground, stood in the center of the room among the remains of his piece of furniture before a terrible rage gripped his soul, his breathing quickened.

He shouted, exploded his bow against the wall with all the force and anger he could muster, grabbed one of the chairs and threw it against his bookcase, demolishing both pieces of furniture and causing his books to fall against the floor. He grabbed a vase and broke it against the fireplace, tore the cover of the sofa, knocked into his television set, broke everything that could be broken, without ceasing to scream, without being able to repress the bitter tears that ran down his defeated face. But no matter how stubborn he was, no matter how much he raged at everything that came into his way, his guilt and shame did not diminish, but seemed to grow stronger.

He violently bit his hand, choking a new scream, inflicting a new wound on himself. He intensified the bite, pushed his teeth into his bone, felt the pungent taste of blood fill his mouth, while his able-bodied hand grabbed his arm to plant his phalanxes, scratching himself as if to atone for his fault, to inflict punishment on himself. 

Again that feeling of suffocating, of drowning in tears and despair, like what he's been going through every night for all these fucking years. 

He gave a violent blow backwards, hitting his skull against the wall and, bewildered, he let himself fall, ceased to bite himself to better push his sobs, his desperate screams that filled the whole house, while he cowered feverishly, his body heavy. 

**\- Dream, Dream, Dream... Poor little fragile thing...** -

“Go away... !”

His cry died in his throat, he closed his eyes.

He didn't want to hear that voice anymore.

**\- Poor dream keeper, so unfamiliar with negative emotions, unable to handle them properly when you feel them ... Another thing your brother does better than** **you-**

He gritted his teeth, backed up against the wall. He wanted to disappear, disappear into dust.

“Let's see Dream, it wouldn't be fun anymore if that happened!”

He froze.

This ghostly voice, coming from his own subconscious, heard only from him and him alone ... was heard in the room, right in front of him.

**[ No...! ]** ****

He opened his eyes, terrified, and his descent into hell accelerated at the sight of what he found before him. That thing, that being, which he had until then taken for an invention of his mind, whereas from the beginning, from all these nights, these nightmares ... It was actually one of the most abominable beings of the multiverse.

Dream has a repressed scream.

[ **It was Shattered Dream...** ]


	2. [ Applesauce ]

_Stormy gusts of wind struck their bodies, whipped their bones, and formed a barrier between them so that they could no longer strike each other. This umpteenth confrontation had been violent, terrible, more powerful than anything they had ever known before._

_“YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME! YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND ME!”_

_Nightmare was trembling with rage, his tentacles flailing, ready to fall as soon as the wind blew. And Dream could only watch helplessly as his brother's anger was met with his hateful gaze, his gaze that screamed, "I want you to die, I want you to disappear for good._

 _[_ **_The world would be a much better place if he disappeared._ ** _]_

_“YOU'VE ALWAYS HAD IT ALL! BECAUSE YOU ARE THE GUARDIAN OF DREAMS, OF POSITIVITY! YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN THE SPOILED BRAT! AND ME IN ALL THIS?!”_

_Dream lowered his eyes, his throat tied, his limbs trembling before this terrible truth._

_“WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I NEEDED YOU? WHEN I WAS BEING HUMILIATED, HARASSED?”_

_Dream wasn't there. It never had been. He'd screamed to the world that he'd protect his twin, that he'd always be there for him, that he loved him more than anything. But how can you protect your loved ones when you don't know they're in danger, when you don't know they're suffering? Nightmare had so many times concealed his pain, only not to worry the guardian of dreams ..._

_But Dream should've seen it coming. Even if he hadn't been told, he should have seen the marks on his body, heard the insults. But Dream was naive, living in his bubble, seeing only the kindness and gentleness that was brought to him, not seeing the horrors lurking in the shadows._

_The fall had been all the more painful._

_“DON'T TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND ME! DON'T GIVE ME ANY MORE OF YOUR BULLSHIT! DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU TRUST ME, THAT YOU LOVE ME, THAT YOU WANT WHAT'S BEST FOR ME! YOU'RE A LIAR!”_

_[_ **_He was just a liar_ ** _]_

 _[_ **_A pathetic, stupid, ridiculous liar_ ** _]_

That's why Cross had managed to make Nightmare smile, to bring him back at least a little on the right side. Because Cross was a trustworthy man. Cross wasn't a liar.

Dream looked with a dull eye at the memory that had played out before his eyes, recalling perfectly that conversation, that fight that had widened the chasm that separated him from his brother. That moment that had completed the guardian of dreams: he was not able to change his brother. He had never been able to change his brother. 

“I understand you, Dream.”

Shattered made the memory of a finger snap disappear so that his counterpart would pay attention to him again. 

“I'm probably the only one who can understand you.”

He approached the little skeleton who was suffering, wounded and feverish, trembling and exhausted. His phalanges coated with black ink came to caress his cheek to go down to his chin, raising his face to look him straight in the eyes.

“We're similar, little keeper. We've been through the same thing, the same pain. Both of us ... we just wanted to do our best, for ourselves and for others.”

Dream hiccupped, tears streaming from the corner of his eye sockets. Shattered came to gently wipe them away.

“Yes, I understand you, Dream... People are only interested in us because of our aura, and it's our brothers, our Nightmares, who receive real love. Isn't it unfair?”

He sticks his forehead against his own:

“After all the evil they've done, isn't it unfair for others to turn to them? We are the ones who should receive all the attention, we are the ones who should be loved, loved for real.

\- ... No.”

Shattered, it tensed.

“... No ?”

He pushed his face back, looking at Dream in confusion. The young guardian held up his look of incomprehension, the pain twisting his being, his soul. The words were struggling to come out, his throat hurt so much, his mind was troubled, but he could not let the corrupt being continue to say such things: 

"We have always received everything while our brothers suffered... Nightmare always wanted to protect me, always did everything for me. If he's become this way, if he hates me, it's all my fault. »

A poor smile stretched his lips as he let himself slide against the wall behind him. Shattered stood up, fists clenched:

"What are you talking about? That bastard stole everything from you! Your world, your family... even your friends turn to him! Even Cross gave you up for him! »

Dream closed his eyes, a salty tear beaded once again, slipped and crashed against the damaged ground. He was pathetic, half unconscious in his devastated living room. And Shattered's cry resounded once more:

“YOU JUST LEFT THE BATTLE IN A PANIC! AND NO ONE'S COMING TO SEE HOW YOU'RE DOING! EVEN INK STAYED THERE! YOU THINK THAT'S FAIR?

\- I hurt Cross. They have to take care of him. 

\- WHA... AND YOU DON'T MIND? THE BAD GUYS CAN HANDLE IT! INK COULD...

\- Ink doesn't like me.”

He opened his eyes again, a tearing gleam in his eyes:

“Nobody loves me. You said that, didn't you?”

Shattered widened his eyes:

“Isn't that reason enough to make them pay? 

\- Make them pay for what? Make them pay for my mistakes, make them pay for who I am? They had nothing to do with it. Shattered... We can only blame ourselves for being... for being us.”

Dream uttered a scream, surprised by the tentacle that pressed him violently against the wall, which almost broke his spine, wrapping itself around his throat to squeeze it tightly, half suffocating him.

“DON'T FUCK WITH ME! WE HAVEN'T DECIDED WHAT WE ARE! WE DESERVE TO BE LOVED! WHILE NIGHTMARE'S JUST AN ASSHOLE, NIGHTMARE HAS DECIDED TO CORRUPT HIMSELF! AND WE'RE GOING TO MAKE THEM PAY, THEM, THE WHOLE MULTIVERSE, HIS PEOPLE WHO USED US WITHOUT EVER GIVING IT BACK TO US!”

Dream froze, his soul tightening more as he was running out of oxygen. 

“N... no…” he articulated. “I don't want to... I don't want to hurt anyone anymore…”

Shattered tightened his grip as another tentacle wrapped around the arm of the smaller one:

“Do you even think you have a choice? Do you think you are in control? Ah... Ahahah…”

His cynical laughter resonated darkly as his counterpart's arm cracked softly beneath his grip. His pupils orbits gauged Dream without a word, making him squeak with terror, while he spoke again in a hoarse, terrifying voice:

“ **You're crazy, Dream... Totally crazy... You don't know what's good for you. But don't worry, I'm here, I'll help you.”**

The young goalkeeper was suffocating, trying in vain to struggle without any success. He couldn't think, couldn't understand what was going on. He could hardly discern the silhouette of his double, this silhouette that dominated him and made him tremble, that would soon kill him.

**“I'M GOING TO OPEN YOUR EYES”**

Dream bent down, eyes filled with horror, his mouth open in a silent scream, a scream that had got stuck in his throat at the moment the throbbing pain had torn his body apart, at the moment he had felt his arm being snapped off.

Shattered pushed a tentacle into his mouth, forcing him to swallow an unknown element, tearing a panicked sob out of him, and striking a deep wound in the puck.

He let him go. 

Dream collapsed to the ground, coughed, spat, holding his broken arm while screaming, his cries so violent they could have drowned him. He tried to catch his breath, each breath aggravated the pain that ran through him, worsening the suffering in which he had been imprisoned. He watched his tears rushing down the floor, the blood dripping from his mouth, but most of all ... most of all he watched this. That thing he had spit out, that element that belonged to the thing he had swallowed. That little black spot that was so cruelly familiar.

“No... !”

Dream had groaned, horror seized his being, his anger and grief becoming even more violent than before as he became aware of what he had swallowed. 

“NO!”

Shattered's smile came back, widened, almost ran across his entire face as if to demonstrate the immense joy, the pride that ran through it:

“ **Yes Dream, yes. Let yourself go, get carried away, and become like me. Join me!** ”

The guard struck his skull against the ground, screaming, his tears redoubling in violence.

Shattered had dared... 

[ **He had swallowed a black apple** ]

Dream felt himself burning inside, consumed by a powerful evil, an acidic anguish that only wanted to corrupt him, to make him fall into darkness. He hit himself again, saw white dots dancing in front of his eyes, tightened his grip on his broken arm. The external pain seemed to be the only way to hold on to reality, not to twist, not to lose what little lucidity he had left.

He nodded, raised his skull again, but before he could inflict another wound he was seized by Shattered, by his tentacles which lifted him up, preventing him from touching the ground. His tentacles grabbed every part of his body, immobilizing him, preventing him from harming himself. Forcing him to look at the expression of madness that deformed the face of his double. 

**“Stop fighting Dream, it'll be much less painful!** ”

Dream didn't care. 

What did he care about suffering? He could suffer a thousand torments if it prevented him from hurting others, from hurting his friends, those who loved him. He had already made Cross suffer, he wasn't going to make the same mistake again!

Shattered shattered by his resolute air before a pure rage took hold of him. 

“ **You poor bastard, I warned you!** ”

The guard became livid, livid in front of the black apple that his counterpart had just pulled out. Did he have any others? What's that? How many others? His questions escaped him, evaporated as he stubbornly closed his mouth and tried to remain in control of himself.

But he was unable to do so, he cried out in horror when he felt his patella break, his tibia fracture, and his complaint was stifled by the second apple that came sinking into his mouth cavity, which he tried to regurgitate without being able to. He felt this filth hitting the bottom of his throat, flowing inside him, obstructing his soul with spikes, icy blades. He made himself violent to vomit, to reject this intrusion, until he was interrupted by a third apple, a third horror which passed as with difficulty as the first two, which petrified his soul of terror, his soul which beat much too hard, much too quickly, which shouted and begged while himself remained mute, with empty eyes, as if ready to fall into dust in the instant.

And he fell. But not in the way he'd hoped.

He discerned a distant crash, a bright light, a gust of wind.

Shattered widened his eyes, taking the tentacle that hit him in the chest and sent him crashing against the opposite wall, making him groan with surprise and pain as he released Dream in spite of himself.

The Dream Keeper felt himself fall but never touched the ground. He collapsed in powerful arms, arms that came to hold him firmly, arms far too familiar for his poor battered body. Slowly he looked up, unable to say a word, and in spite of his suffering body, in spite of his tortured soul, he knew he was dreaming, that it was all an illusion, an invention of his imagination.

For it was simply impossible for Nightmare to stand beside him, holding him like a princess as if he were the most precious thing in the world. It was impossible for his brother, his twin, to look at him with such eyes, with that gleam of panic, that expression full of anger and worry. 

**[It was impossible for anyone to come to his rescue.]**

But it warmed him up. What a sweet and cruel irony, to think of his brother at that moment, to believe that he could still come back to him and support him ... Dream would have laughed if his body had allowed it, smiled if it hadn't been painful. But he thought that for his last breath, seeing his brother wasn't so bad. That for his last vision of this world, seeing his brother loving him was the greatest gift.

And he lied again. That's all he knew how to do.

**[All is well]**

He doesn't live anymore. Nothing but darkness.

Nothing but the darkness of unconsciousness.


	3. [Isn't it unfair that I still love you?]

He loved him. He had loved him as he had never loved anyone, because no one had ever given him such attention, no one had ever given him such love. 

He had loved him for his sweetness, his kindness. He had loved him for his looks, his words, his touch. He had loved him like many people, because Dream was loved by all, Dream was not like him.

[ **Dream... wasn't like him** ]

He hated it. He had hated him like he had never hated anyone, because no one had ever inflicted such suffering on him. 

He had hated him for his ignorance, his naivety. He hated him for his innocent smiles, his lack of reaction, his lack of protection. He had hated him for being so different, so perfect, so luminous, so superior to him.

[ **Dream was superior to him** ]

[ **He always was.** ]

The bullying was nothing compared to his brother's ignorance. The beatings were superficial compared to the blindness of his twin. Why couldn't he see anything? Why didn't he protect him? Did he mean so little to him that his brother, his only family, the person he loved, whom he adulated, whom he admired the most, did nothing about him, did not help him?

He hated it.

[ **He wanted him to disappear.** ]

The black apples, his apples, had been a delicious revenge, a delicate attention that had allowed him to quench his vengeance, had allowed him to pay for all his swellings that had so many times mistreated him. He made them suffer as he had suffered, he gave them back his pain a hundredfold, he ... oh yes, yes, he tortured them, and he loved it. Because those Dreamtale Beings were just evil, lying, hypocritical monsters...

[ **Exactly like Dream** ]

But he couldn't have killed his brother. He couldn't do it. Was it a manifestation of his love, a part of him that continued to hope, that continued to feel kindness towards his twin? 

Oh, no, no, not at all. 

Death was only too sweet for Dream. He wanted to destroy it, to destroy it mentally, to show him that the world was not just a happy fairy tale, a beautiful story where everything ends well. 

But he had failed. With each attempt, Dream came back stronger, smiled again, gave him love and attention. Dream's keeper was up to his role: he was always optimistic, always believing that positive thinking was the best solution. 

Nightmare had gone into a frenzy. He had tried everything. He'd broken his bones, he'd sequestered him, he'd tortured him. The real problem was that he was unable to feel his twin's emotions, as if he had enough control over them that no one could read them. Unless Nightmare was simply unable to feel the positive emotions? The same with nightmares: he couldn't give them to Dream, just as Dream couldn't give him dreams. 

And this situation dragged on, dragged on to the point where Nightmare wanted to end it all. He couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't take it anymore.

_"DON'T TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND ME! DON'T GIVE ME ANY MORE OF YOUR BULLSHIT! DON'T TELL ME THAT YOU TRUST ME, THAT YOU LOVE ME, THAT YOU WANT WHAT'S BEST FOR ME! YOU'RE A LIAR! »_

Dream hadn't said anything back. Dream looked down. Dream... accepted his words, agreed with his words. 

[ **Dream lied to him** ]

Nightmare knew that. He knew that it was all just talk. But to face the fact, to take the truth so abruptly... 

That hurt.

Really badly.

He came home that day devastated, paid no attention to his henchmen, locked himself in his room and never came out. Because he would have been unable to face anyone with such a livid face, because he would have been unable to explain his swollen eyes, his tear marks on his cheeks. 

Because Dream destroyed it. 

[ **But Dream wasn't the only one that mattered.** ]

Nightmare had first been surprised when Horror knocked on his door, calling him in a voice that sounded worried. He had ignored him, but when the other one insisted he went into a dark rage, opened the door to hit him ... and fell on his henchman holding a meal tray. A meal for him.

Days had followed without any comment from any of his subordinates, without any of them noting the sadness that emanated from him. They acted as usual, bickering like children and annoying the nightmare master. But Nightmare had felt this change, this sweetness and tenderness emanating from them.

The Bad Sanses weren't afraid of him. 

When he fell back to Dream, he thought he'd fainted. Failing when he saw his twin who no longer tried to resonate with him, who had given up the idea of bringing him back to the right side. But once again, the Bad Sanses had been there, he had supported and protected him, personally taking care of the guardian of dreams.

When Cross betrayed them to the Star Sanses, Nightmare thought he'd gone mad. His rage had driven him to destroy part of his castle, to massacre everything he could get his hands on, to hurt his subordinates. But they didn't blame him.

They understood his suffering. Nightmare had guilt. He didn't want to hurt them...

That is why he had not hit Cross on his return, although he was not sure he could trust him. Except that the swordsman had swept away his doubts with a wave of his hand: " _Dream has told me your story. This is unfair. Everything that's happened to you is unfair._ "

Nightmare had frozen.

**[So... he wasn't the only one who thought so?]**

**[Did anyone else know it was unfair?]**

He thought he'd cracked, but he stuck it out. He was the master of negativity! He couldn't let anyone get at his feelings, discover his weaknesses! Let alone a traitor who had a friendly relationship with his brother! 

But Nightmare was weak. Yes, he was weak, he couldn't hide from it. He couldn't keep lying to himself: he was happy that he was finally getting attention, genuine attention, real affection. No lies, no tricks, no pretences.

We loved him for who he was. 

[ **Dreams don't count anymore** ]

[ **Dream was just a remnant from the past, a mere obstacle, a meaningless enemy like Ink** ]

[ **Dreams don't mean anything to him anymore** ]

At least, Nightmare thought he'd gotten used to the idea. He thought he'd gotten used to the daily routine. 

Until you feel these emotions. Violent negative emotions, emotions he couldn't define the source of. Negative emotions that he could not enjoy, that he could not draw power from.

These negative emotions were not **normal**.

And Nightmare had this strange feeling. This feeling that these emotions had always been there without him being able to feel them, feels that he could locate them. He had this feeling that they were very familiar to him and that intrigued him, intrigued him but also worried him. 

Apprehension was taking hold of him. 

And then there was the fight. 

[ **He mocked Dream as usual** ]

 **[He left him face to face with Cross, knowing that they were friends, knowing that Dream would never dare to make any trouble for him.** ]

[... **wrong?]**

He was petrified. Petrified of a terror he had never felt, as if all the negativity in the world had gathered at a specific point to implode, to drive him mad. 

**[ Cross was down ]**

**[ Cross was wounded ]**

He thought he was hallucinating, like everyone else at the scene. His gaze went from Cross, unconscious, to Dream, his face devoid of emotion. A face as inexpressive as Ink's when he wasn't drinking his bottles.

[ **He didn't recognize his twin.** ]

The atmosphere had become icy, the tension more stifling than ever. Nightmare... Nightmare was terrified, unable to move, unable to help Cross, unable to attack Dream. 

A terrifying realization hit him, slammed him in the face. He felt faint before the horror of the situation, before this truth that could not exist, this truth that should have been impossible: these abnormal emotions that he had been feeling all this time ... these negative emotions that disgusted him, that had been there since he was a child, that he had never been able to define correctly ... 

[ **Emotionally from Dream ]**

 **[ Dream... has been giving off negative emotions forever** ]

Nightmare would've probably thrown up with his stomach turned over by this revelation. Anger, pain, resentment, terror, **TERROR!**

[ **Dream beaming** ]

Nightmare froze. He did not react when his henchmen rushed at Cross. He didn't react when he saw Cross moaning in pain, half-conscious, on the brink of death. He doesn't react when it was Ink who healed him.

Because he didn't understand. It couldn't be real. It couldn't have really happened.

Dream was the keeper of positivity. Dream was naive, far too innocent and kind, far too locked up in its bubble of gaiety. Dream was... 

**_\- "YOU'RE A LIAR" -_ **

Dream was...

 **_\- "LIAR"._ ** **..**

Dream was... !

**[ Dream was a liar ]**

**[ Chuckles ]**

Nightmare became livid. His eye lit up.

He teleported before the stunned eyes of his companions.

He teleported to Dream, to that unknown house he'd never been able to visit.

[ **Because he could only teleport to places where he felt negativity** ]

The show left him speechless. His only eye clung to his brother's feverish body, to his body hanging in the void that was painfully crumbling, cracked everywhere, broken in places, close to turning to dust. Then he captured the presence of Shattered, this pale copy, this failed imitation of his twin, this imitation that was almost similar to him except that he was only a scum, a demented being. 

And he lives it. He felt it.

This piece washed up in the rubble. That negative sense of insanity.

[ **Black apples** ]

The horror took him by the guts.

[ **DREAM ATE BLACK APPLES** ]

He drew out his tentacles, propelled them against Shattered to smash him against the wall, strike him with a gaping wound, make him suffer, MAKE him PAY! THAT FUCKING ASSHOLE, HOW COULD HE DARE? HOW DARE HE **TOUCH HIS BROTHER?**!

He only caught up with Dream through his sharp reflexes, his body trembling with a rage, a hatred that he struggled to maintain, to control. He perceived his brother's gaze, perceived his terror and pain, perceived his little positivity being swallowed up, drowned by negativity. 

And he saw his brother sink, close his eyes, pass out. 

His brother at death's door.

" **SHATTERED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"**

This house, this whole universe trembled brutally, wavering in the face of this scream. Dream's counterpart shuddered, barely recovering from the wound inflicted by Nightmare.

The nightmare master went mad with rage. He squeezed his twin against him, his palms trembling against this frail body, his throat tied in the face of such fragility. His vision became blurred, obstructed by tears of anguish, tears of panic that slid down his cheek as he gazed at Shattered without a pupil.

 **[It's a beautiful day, isn't it** **?]**

His aura eluded him, he lost control, lost mastery of his whole being.

[ **Birds singing, flowers blooming** ]

The space sank into darkness, negativity took over the place completely. Shattered stood up, one hand on his bloody wound, his vital points half removed.

 **[On days like this..**.]

Their eyes met. Their eyes lit up.

[ **Monsters like you** ]

" **ARE LIVING A REAL NIGHTMARE** "

Nightmare brandishes his tentacles, shoots them straight at his enemy. Shattered smiled, dodged one with a simple step to the side, teleported himself to dodge the other two. The nightmare bent down, dodged a tentacle in turn, and teleported into the heavens, Dream still in his arms. He made a Gaster Blaster appear and leaned on it, firing a straight beam at his opponent. 

Shattered contra the blow by protecting himself with bones, projected his tentacles towards Nightmare but missed him, only managing to destroy his Gaster Blaster in a violent explosion. The blast threw Nightmare to the ground. He landed brutally on his feet, grimaced as he felt a pain go through his legs, took a look at Dream to check his condition and then turned back to Shattered. 

He turned his soul blue, pinned it to the ground and impaled it on bones. The shattered dream weighed heavily, managed at the last moment to thwart this bad trick, but was wounded in the arm. In a burst of rage he disappeared in a flash, only to find himself behind Nightmare, whom he attacked with a sharp bone. The nightmare also attacked Nightmare with a bone, retaliated, tried to slice him off without being able to reach him.

Shattered ricana, immobilized Nightmare with blue bones before putting him to play with his own Gasters Blasters.

The nightmare master gritted his teeth. He had no choice but to throw Dream to the side before the rays hit him, reducing the place where he was standing to ashes and dangerously diminishing his life points. 

Shattered pinned him to the ground, crushed his face with his foot, brandished his tentacles which he was going to take pleasure in driving into the wounded body of the master of nightmares, which he was going to take pleasure in driving into the soul of his enemy.

But he got paint in his face. The surprise interrupted him, he lowered his guard for half a second, long enough to allow Nightmare to push him back, to project him several meters back.

Shattered wiped himself off the handle, looked up, grunted an insult at the sight of Ink standing between him and Nightmare, the brush drawn and the face filled with rage. He prepared to attack the Creator, but his instincts screamed for him to move.

TO MOVE FAST!

He threw himself to the side, squealed in amazement as bluish threads burst against the ground where he stood, dangerously familiar bluish threads.

The broken dream turned its head, shivering with anguish at the sight of Error.

The situation was turning to his disadvantage. Three to one... It was, uh... It was, uh...

[ **Scoffs** ]

Shattered clenched his fists.

He teleported, disappearing for good from this universe.

Nightmare coughed, the body aching but not enough to stop him from getting up. He saw Ink's confused gaze... And both of them suddenly turned pale, turning simultaneously to Dream lying on the ground.

Dream whose soul had split. 


	4. [This desire I have for you.]

The darkness of unconsciousness was one of the most terrifying prisons he had ever known. Dream cowered, trembling, unable to raise his head to observe this desperately empty, desperately dark place. The place that had held him prisoner for so long... for hours? Days? He couldn't tell, his vision of time was cloudy, as cloudy as the feelings that assailed him. 

He was scared, shaking, sobbing. And in this place devoid of life, he heard only his own groans, his own painful and pathetic groans.

He was scared. He wanted Ink. He wanted Cross. He wanted his brother.

[ **Someone, anyone...** ]

Was he dead? Was it hell? Was it his fate after his miserable life: to be plunged into darkness until he went mad?

He gritted his teeth, choking out another sob.

A gust of wind. He shivered.

He froze.

A gust of wind?

He raised his head up sharply, only to fall once again into the void. At first disappointed, his soul gripping with anguish, he suddenly held his breath. No ... There was something different. There was a... There was someone there?

“Always such a crybaby.”

Dream widened his eyes and got back on his feet. Contradictory feelings took possession of him: relief, apprehension, incomprehension. He squinted his eyes for fear of having dreamed, but it was not so: Nightmare broke away from the darkness to appear before him, as imposing and haughty as usual, his tentacles wiggling in his back.

“N ... Night?” stammered the keeper of dreams. 

Nightmare kept silent, looked at him for a long time, lingered on his frail and trembling body, then on his tired and terrified face ... and Dream was surprised to see a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. No, it was impossible, had he dreamed?

“... Nightmare... Is this ....real? Or am I... ?

\- You're not dead.”

The master of darkness approached. Dream shuddered, took a step back, but his twin was quickly at his level, came to slip a hand on his cheek, surprising him again. And he put on him a look that the guardian of dreams never thought he would see, a look that made him feel like a jewel, a fragile crystal that one wished to brood and cherish. 

It wasn't normal... This situation was far too unreal... 

“Dream…”

Nightmare's voice shook, alerting his twin, who looked at him in confusion:

“Dream... You're in a coma.”

The little dream blinked, as if he hadn't assimilated the information. He tilted his head to the side, lost, confused, believing some kind of joke or manipulative technique, or a clue that he was dreaming and that his brother wasn't really there. 

“Dream, do you even remember what happened?”

What happened? He had a sweet laugh, a laugh that stunned Nightmare.

“It's hard to forget him ... But what does it matter?”

**Yeah, what does it matter** ?

“All is well”

[ **He was fine.** ]

“This place isn't so bad, especially if I can create such illusions…”

[ **Now that he had imagined Nightmare, maybe he could imagine Ink, Cross, maybe even Blueberry?** ]

“No one will ever have to suffer because of me again.”

[  **Yes, no on...** ]

“BUT YOU'RE NOT FUCKING DEAD!”

Dream was startled, terrified by this excess of voices. He looked at what he thought was a fake Nightmare, this fake Nightmare whose tentacles were more violently agitated, whose gaze had become more murderous. This fake Nightmare at his wit's end, full of rage and suffering that made him tremble, made him want to cry:

“YOU'RE IN A COMA BECAUSE THE OTHER MOTHERFUCKER MADE YOU EAT BLACK APPLES! AND I STILL DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU'RE STILL NOT FUCKING CORRUPT!”

Dream flickers. What's that?

Nightmare grabbed him by the shoulders:

“We're both unconscious right now! Your state is completely unstable, your mind is an open book! I snuck in here to wake you up, you moron!

\- No... (sighs) No, that's impossible, it's... 

\- If you don't wake up now, your soul will destroy itself! And then, yeah, then you'll be dead for good! And don't expect Reaper to give you special treatment! So... (sighs)”

Nightmare opened his eyes when he was violently pushed away. He avoided the fall only because of his tentacles on which he leaned and raised his head, looking at his brother in amazement. Dream had just attacked him? Really?

“Shut up... “ gently blew the younger one backwards. 

Nightmare frowned, took another step towards him.

“BACK OFF! STAY AWAY FROM ME! 

\- Dream.

\- SHUT UP! YOU'RE NOT MY BROTHER! YOU CAN'T BE MY BROTHER!”

Dream didn't know how he managed, but his bow suddenly materialized in his hand and it was by instinct that he aimed at his twin before firing without the slightest hesitation. The arrow of light split the air in an instant and almost stabbed the nightmare master, but he narrowly dodged it, not without making a wince when he was grazed on the cheek. 

He growled, looked angrily at his brother:

“So you want to play this…”

He never turned down a fight, least of all with his idiot twin. His old habits returned at full gallop and he threw himself on Dream, his tentacles rushing towards him. But his soul missed a beat. It missed a beat when he saw Dream close his eyes, surrendering to his attack, ready to suffer its full force, even if it was only to shatter.

Nightmare felt his stomach twist. He had to use all his self-control to manage to deflect the attack, saving his twin from certain death, and instead of hurting him he came to grab him, his tentacles grabbing his arms and legs to immobilize him in the air. 

Dream froze in horror, assailed by memories.

[  **_Tentacle clamps violently against the wall_ ** ]

**_[ arm snap ]_ **

**_[ Sticking a tentacle in his mouth ]_ **

**_[Sets him down with a deep wound]_ **

“ **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”**

Nightmare froze with fright, shuddered before this scream of terror, a scream he had surely not foreseen, as well as this sudden wave of negativity that pushed him to step back, to protect himself with his arms. He barely managed to hold Dream, watching it struggling, screaming and sobbing like a madman, his body arched and his eyes filled with unbearable fear. 

And that terrified him. Dealing with negative emotions was one thing. Facing unknown negativity was another. But seeing his brother, his twin, that adorable being embodying positivity, screaming like a madman and struggling with despair, was surely the worst vision, a sight he would never have wanted to see.

And yet he had dreamed of it. Oh yes, Nightmare had dreamed of the day when he would destroy Dream, when he would push it to its limit, when he would make it sick with horror and make it sink, getting rid of the positive emotions that were bothering him at the time, getting rid of the last obstacle that was preventing him from reigning as a master on the multiverse. 

**Aren't you happy** ?

He should have been happy.

[ **You finally get what you want.** ]

He should have rejoiced! 

[  **Chuckles** ]

WHY COULDN'T HE REJOICE?!

Nightmare tightened his grip, Dream uttered yet another scream. He slipped a tentacle around his throat, pressed it slowly, the body trembling, the eyes devoid of pupils.

**[If he killed him now, no one would blame him.]**

**[If he killed him now, everyone would think that Shattered is the culprit.]**

**If he killed him now...**

**If he killed him now...!**

... Why didn't he kill him before? Now he'd had his chance. He'd had too many chances.

[ **He wanted to hurt him.** ]

Yes, yes, death was too sweet, much too sweet for Dream. It was... 

**[ Dream choking ]**

He didn't care. A little more, just a little tighter, and...

**[He can't breathe]**

Why did he want to save him in the first place? No, no, Nightmare didn't want to save him. He was delusional, he didn't... he didn't... he didn't... he... he... 

He met the gaze of his twin, his twin who had stopped struggling, empty-eyed, half unconscious, ready to accept his death, ready to disappear from this world, ready to ... à ... 

Nightmare became livid. His tentacles gave way, letting the guardian of dreams fall to the ground, stunned and confused, coughing and trying to catch a faint breath. 

“Why... ? “ articulated the nightmare.

Dream was unable to move. He could only turn his eyes to his weak brother, without understanding why he had not finished him.

“Why do you seek to die... ? WHAT'S GOING ON IN YOUR SKULL THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO DISAPPEAR?”

The silence returned, heavier, colder, more unbearable than ever. 

Dream remained for a long time without answering, as if the question seemed absurd to him, that there was no need to give an answer. Nightmare asked him why? He  **dared to** ask him why? He dared to stand in front of him, to cheer him up, to imply that he was just an idiot to want to die ... When he was the one who wanted him dead all along? That he's the one who's been trying to finish him off? That he was the one who tried to kill him again not even a few minutes ago?

“... You've got to be kidding me…”

Dream blew that out with a smile on his face, as if he'd just heard a good joke. His breathing was just getting regular again, but his soul was beating wildly, his mind was no longer functioning properly. He leaned on his hands, trembling all over, more feverish than he had ever been.

“You wanted me to disappear... and now that I'm giving it to you, you ask me why? When I'm doing this for you, for all of you, you ask me  **why** ?”

Her smile had melted, his tremors had become more violent. He got up, barely holding on to his legs, ready to collapse again. But his gaze was not feverish. No, his gaze had become dark, dark and angry, witnessing the storm raging inside him, the storm that mixed his anger and sadness, his regret and remorse, his ... his ... his ... 

“IT'S NOT FAIR! I HAVE FINALLY ACCEPTED MY FATE! I FINALLY ACCEPTED TO DIE ! I'VE FINALLY ACCEPTED TO LEAVE YOU ALONE, TO LEAVE YOU ALONE SO THAT I CAN BE LEFT ALONE! WHY DON'T YOU LET ME DIE? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO WANTED THIS! YOU'VE ALWAYS WANTED IT! DON'T BULLSHIT ME, DON'T TELL ME YOU WANT ME TO WAKE UP!”

Nightmare thought he was hallucinating, anger took hold of him again: 

“LEAVE YOU ALONE? YOU'RE ALWAYS IN PEACE! YOU'VE HAD PEACE SINCE WE WERE KIDS! YOU'VE HAD IT ALL ALONG! YOU'VE ALWAYS HAD PEOPLE TO LOVE AND CUDDLE YOU, YOU'VE ALWAYS... 

\- WHAT LOVE?!”

Nightmare paused, stunned by such a question. He clenched his fists, his rage only getting stronger, but Dream got ahead of him before he could reply:

“DO YOU EVOKE THE LOVE IN MY AURA? IS THIS LOVE FOR YOU?”

Nightmare remained mute, caught off guard by such a question. What… ? Love to his aura?

“WHAT A LOVE! PEOPLE LIKE TO FEEL GOOD! THEY LIKE POSITIVE EMOTIONS, THEY LIKE TO SMILE, THEY LIKE TO BE HAPPY! SO OF COURSE HE LOVES ME, I'M A WALKING SOURCE OF HAPPINESS! 

\- Wha... Dr...

\- BUT WITHOUT THAT AURA, WHO'S LEFT? NO ONE! BECAUSE NOBODY WANTS A USELESS KID! NOBODY WANTS A CLUMSY MORON WHO KNOWS NOTHING BUT HOPE, WHO KNOWS NOTHING BUT HOPING, WHO KNOWS NOTHING BUT COMING OUT OF NONSENSE BIGGER THAN HIMSELF!

\- It's, uh... !

\- EVERYONE PREFERS TO PLAY THE HYPOCRITE WHEN IT SUITS THEM, BUT WHEN THEY NO LONGER NEED A HELPING HAND THEY TURN AWAY FROM THEIR SOURCE! THEY GO ELSEWHERE TO TAKE CARE OF THE PEOPLE THEY REALLY LOVE!”

Nightmare hiccupped, petrified by his twin's speech. Petrified by the tears that had come to fill his eyes and run down his undone face. 

“ONCE THEY'RE HAPPY, ONCE THEY'RE HAPPY... !”

Dream sobbed, grabbed his arms with force, stuck his trembling phalanges into them without worrying about the pain. 

"Once they're happy, they don't need me anymore! Once they are happy, they don't care that I can disappear, they don't care that I can go  **wrong** !"  


He fell to his knees, shaken by uncontrollable jolts, as pale as death as he felt his stomach turn over, inflicting on him that repulsive urge to vomit. 

“... I wanted to be like you…”

Nightmare felt stabbed, assaulted by a stabbing pain, a pain that worsened when his twin repeated:

“I wanted to be like you... To be as strong as you... To be capable of so many things like you... Many hated you, many resented you, many still do... But when people love you…”

He burst into tears, his voice going off the rails over his last words:

“...when you are loved, you are truly loved... !”

He took his head in his hands, closing his eyes with force, as if he wanted to hide, to vanish for good:

“ **I really loved you... !”**

There was nothing left but his sobs, his crouching and aching body, his broken voice and his erratic breathing. There was nothing left but his troubled mind and his terror. There was nothing but his distress and abandonment. 

And Nightmare just stood there with his mouth open, unable to answer anything, as if he'd just received a masterful slap, a truth he would have preferred to ignore. He remained silent, contemplating the feverish body of his brother, contemplating what was left of his sparkling twin as a crowd of memories hit him in the face.

_ “YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME! YOU'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND ME!” _

He was the one who didn't understand anything.

_ “YOU'VE ALWAYS HAD IT ALL! BECAUSE YOU ARE THE GUARDIAN OF DREAMS, OF POSITIVITY! YOU'VE ALWAYS BEEN THE SPOILED BRAT! AND ME IN ALL THIS?!” _

"A spoiled rotten kid" who lived a life of hypocrisy and lies.

_ “WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I NEEDED YOU? WHEN I WAS BEING HUMILIATED, HARASSED?” _

Dream had never been there because he didn't know about it. He had never noticed anything because everybody had hidden it from him, everybody had lied to him, everybody... including Nightmare himself. Nightmare who had dared to accuse him, who had dared to call him a liar.

But Dream had only lied to one person.

**[ Dream had been lying to himself all these years ]**

**[He lied to himself, convinced himself that he was okay, that everything was fine]**

**[He had lied to himself only to avoid cracking up. Only so he could continue to support others]**

**[ While from the beginning... ]**

**[All along, it was his job to be supported]**

Nightmare collapsed, fell to his knees, exhausted. Just about at the end. He made a groan, a pathetic moan, close to a sob, and barely realized that his vision had become blurred, that tears were coming out of his one eye. 

**What had he done?**

He destroyed Dream.

**What had he done?**

He had pushed his twin to the limit. 

**What had he done?**

He had committed an unforgivable act. 

**Seeing your desperate brother hurt you more than you thought...**

Nightmare gritted her teeth. He got up, his body reacting by automatism, and moved towards Dream, came to crouch down beside him, put a hand on his shoulder.

**[It's time to right the wrong you've done.]**

“It's time to wake up Dream.”

**[You're filled with determination]**


	5. [ Past tense ]

__ _ His world had been devastated. Completely devastated. There was nothing left, just him. Him, a pathetic skeleton unable to protect his own. He, a skeleton who'd hoped in vain, hoped that it would start all over again, that he could take back history, change it. He'd had the crazy hope that Chara could help him... _

_ [  _ **_Chara had betrayed him_ ** _ ] _

__ _ He thought he could count on Ink _

_ [ _ **_Ink had abandoned him_ ** _ ] _

__ _ He thought he was backed by Nightmare _

_ [  _ **_Nightmare tried to kill him_ ** _ ] _

__ _ So Cross had given up. Alone in the depths of some universe, waiting for his impending death, he had given up his dreams, his hopes. He had given up the idea of seeing his friends again, of seeing his dear brother, of seeing his world again. He had given up the idea of finding a family again, of connecting with new people. _

**_[Because he was worthless]_ **

**_[He was just a mistake.]_ **

**_[ Mistake that would soon go away ]_ **

__ _ At least he thought so. Until this apparition, this almost divine apparition. This little skeleton, this angel descended from heaven, who appeared one day before him in a portal of light.  _

__ _ Dream, the brother of Nightmare, the guardian of positive emotions. _

__ _ Cross had felt his soul miss a beat as he watched, with a mixture of wonder and curiosity, this little being approach him. This adorable little being, with such sweet eyes, such a tender smile. This little being who had crouched down beside him, who had gently grasped his hands, who had spoken to him with a voice full of kindness and gentleness : _

_ “I felt your negative emotions... Do you need help?” _

__ _ And Cross knew his life would never be the same again. _

* * *

_ “Cross, are you all right?” _

__ _ The swordsman was startled. He didn't expect to be disturbed in the middle of the night, but in the end he should have foreseen this: Dream must have sensed he was brooding, prey to recurring insomnia.  _

__ _ The young guard had come to sit beside him: _

_ “Do you want to talk about it?” _

__ _ Cross had shaken his head, his throat tied. If he said a word, he could burst into tears. Instead, he took advantage of his friend's comforting presence, came to lay his head on his shoulder. Dream was so gentle and patient, Cross had never known a monster like him before, and it warmed his heart to be so sheltered and pampered by such an innocent little angel.  _

* * *

__ _ It had been a tough battle. Nightmare was in a dark rage, and Cross suspected it was his fault. He'd fallen under the wrath of the Nightmare Master for his betrayal, and it was all coming down on him. In the end, he could accept that. But for Dream to get hurt too, that was unacceptable!  _

_ “I'm sorry… Cross whispered as he finished bandaging the guard's arm. I didn't mean to... I didn't want you to pay the price."  
_

__ _ And Dream had smiled, as tender as ever: _

_ “You can't blame yourself Cross... We're friends, it's normal that I intervene!” _

__ _ But Cross couldn't accept it. No, no, he couldn't accept that his guardian angel should be treated this way, that someone as adorable as Dream should be unjustly hurt! And he couldn't understand why such a sweet person was so stubborn:  _

_ “Your brother is the worst kind!" he cried, trembling with rage. We must finish him off once and for all, so he can never hurt anyone else! _

_ \- NO!” _

__ _ Cross was startled: it was the first time Dream had screamed like that. Dream who came and grabbed his hands with force, his eyes feverish, his body trembling:  _

_ “Please... I beg you, please don't hurt Nightmare...  _

_ \- Dream, I know you care about him, but your brother... ! _

_ \- He's been wounded! He was hurt and abandoned, rejected by everyone, humiliated... ! Cross, you know what it's like... You know what it's like to be on the verge of despair, don't you? You know what it's like to feel so hated, so alone, so excluded from everything, to feel like your life will never get better, that you're going to keep falling until you crash into the bottom of the abyss... !” _

__ _ Cross had frozen. Yes, yes, he knew what it felt like... And Dream went on, eyes down: _

_ “... Nightmare finally cracked ... what little goodness was left in him was swallowed up, imprisoned by the negativity of the black apples. He's not in control, not completely. All he has to do is be entertained for a moment and the negativity will twist his mind, make him do bad things ... and say bad things.” _

__ _ He looked up at him, his eyes misty with tears: _

_ “He only needs help... Needs someone to show him that nothing's lost, that everything can still get better. So please... don't hurt him…” _

__ _ Cross thought he was going to cry. Crying at the look of his friend's defeated face. Crying at the thought that Nightmare was more like him than he thought. _

__ _ He had taken Dream in his arms, held him tightly. Because at that moment, he knew... He knew that he was going to make a big decision. _

* * *

_ “I'm going back to Nightmare.” _

__ _ Dream didn't answer at first, too surprised to make any comment. Then when he understood what he had just announced, his eyes widened in terror: _

_ “Wha... What?” _

__ _ Cross had taken an inspiration: _

_ "I'm going back to Nightmare... and I'm going to guide him. I will show him that he is not just a being of negativity! There must be some good in him _ !  _ You said it yourself: he lived a horrible life, rejected by everyone, full of hatred against everyone. So I want to do with him what you have done for me: I want to help him, to help him to enjoy life, to be positive, to be happy.  _ »

__ _ Cross was determined. Decided to follow in Dream's footsteps. _

__ _ Dream was not just a friend or a mere guardian: Dream was an example to be followed, an example for every living being. But above all: he was the model Cross wanted to be like. _

__ _ Dream had helped and supported him, had given him back the hope of being happy, had given him back his smile. And now it was Cross' turn to do something, it was Cross' turn to show someone the way. And that someone would be none other than Nightmare. Because what would make Dream happier than to see his brother be nice again?  _

_ “Thank you for all Dream, really!” _

__ _ He had hugged him one last time, gave him a heartfelt smile. _

__ _ Then he was gone. _

__ _ He had left without realizing the wound he had inflicted. _

* * *

Cross opened his eyes. With a pasty mouth, he didn't get up immediately, sweeping the ceiling with his eyes. 

"Slept well?"  


He slowly turned his head, crossed Ink's tired gaze. It caused him to straighten up. He and the painter were still at odds, even though Dream had tried several times to reconcile them.

“Wasn't it Dust's job to keep an eye on me?

\- No, he looks after Dream…”

Cross did not make a single comment. He did not see himself entering into a verbal joust with the Creator: the Creator was clearly not in the mood. Dream had been in a coma for a few days, and Ink hadn't slept a wink, waiting for him to wake up, but that put him in a terrible state. 

Without a word, the painter approached the swordsman and changed the bandage on his skull. A small souvenir of the blow the guard had dealt him... 

“You looked like you were having a nightmare…” Ink confessed gently, being careful not to be too abrupt. 

Cross remained silent for a moment, staring into the void. He finally closed his eyes while clenching his fists, prey to a guilt that made him want to cry. But he remained in control of himself. At least as much as he could:

“No. I just realized how dumb I was.”

And once again, once again he thought he would like to go back in time.

He would have liked to change everything.

  
  



	6. [Light and dark, when the two cannot coexist]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback! I don't have many comments, but they are great, really. I'm very happy that you liked the story, I hope you continue to like it until the epilogue!

He felt pulled out of his icy prison, torn from the devastating darkness. The pain, which he had finally forgotten, came back brutally, stronger than the last time, more terrible and haunting. His arm seemed to be slashed from all sides, his leg smashed against the ground. His rib cage, heavy and cumbersome, blocked his breathing.

He suddenly opened his eyes. The light blinded him, burned out his eye sockets, and before he could understand anything, he felt his stomach twist violently. His body moved on its own, rolled sharply to the side to regurgitate everything he had eaten lately, that is to say, nothing at all. There was nothing but bile, sour and foul, mixed with the peculiar taste of blood, a taste to which he should have been accustomed, but ... 

**[ But who could get used to that? ]**

And like every time, like every fucking time, there were these disgusting noises, this nauseating smell, these elements that Dream would have wished to never know, never wanted to know again. He wished to forget them, to erase them from his memory, but each time he succeeded it was to better rediscover them the next time. 

“He's awake!" he heard abruptly without being able to identify the voice.

\- Go get Nightmare! I'll take care of him!” retorted a second person.

And Dream had a new high heart, vomited for the second time, almost choked on this filth until he felt two arms grasping and straightening him, two arms that helped him to get into a slightly more comfortable position, a position that would allow him to finish this regurgitation without ending up strangling him with his own bile. 

He coughed violently, tried to catch his breath. The pain had wrung tears from him, tears of bitterness and suffering, tears that blurred his already blurred vision. Exhausted, he could no longer hold on, and put all his weight on those unknown arms, those arms which continued to hold him and which, it seemed, caressed his back hesitantly, like a feeble attempt to comfort him. 

He closed his eyes, barely discerned the slamming of a door. But he clearly heard the cry that followed: 

“DUST, IS HE AWAKE?”

He sank again.

* * *

He blinked slowly. The first thing that struck him was the smell of fresh sheets, a smell much more pleasant than what he was used to. Then he perceived a strange softness, the softness of a blanket covering him, although it could not overcome the pain that still ran through his bones. But his body was much less painful than he remembered, and breathing was no longer the worst of all calvaries. 

He gently sniffed the air, taking time to adjust to the atmosphere... tranquil atmosphere. But... why... Why couldn't he fully enjoy it?

He rose with difficulty, still half asleep, emptied of all motivation. He looked around the room, an unknown room. Tidied up, cleaned, as if it were being taken care of regularly. 

And he froze. He froze as he turned his head to the door, and saw Nightmare standing in the doorway. 

He knew without a doubt that he wasn't dreaming.

“... How do you feel?”

IF Dream was surprised by his brother's gentleness, he showed nothing of it. He simply looked away, briefly shrugging his shoulders without making a sound. What could he have said, what could he have done? He was exhausted, exhausted from fighting and arguing.

He didn't want to make any more effort.

Nightmare frowned, but did not raise his eyebrows. He approached the bed slowly, his eyes glued to his twin:

“We're in my castle. You've been unconscious for a week. 

\- ... I'm not corrupt.”

Those were his first words, and probably the hardest he had to say. His throat was sore, he could hardly raise his voice, and his sentence was close to a whisper. Nightmare seemed to shudder, but remained in control of himself:

“Indeed. I serve you... catalyst. I'm absorbing some of the negativity you've ingested, but I'm only doing a limited amount. It's enough to keep you from transforming. However... it only works if you're close to me. That's why I brought you here.”

Dream listened to it silently before looking at it again. His dull and tired look made Nightmare shudder, shudder with anguish.

“... So you're going to sequester me here?”

The master of nightmares tensed up, got carried away in spite of himself:

“No! But I'm not letting you go until we get this shit out of your system!”

And Dream simply shrugged his shoulders, returning to his examination of the play:

“All right. Whatever.”

This 'whatever' messed Nightmare up more than he admitted. He gritted his teeth, struggling not to let anger overwhelm him. It wasn't even Dream he was angry at, but this 'thing' that Dream had become. Against this 'thing' that Nightmare had created, that he had unleashed on himself.

“... I'll have a meal brought to you.”

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and rushed across the hallway towards the kitchen. But he stopped in the middle of the deserted corridor, his body shaking all over. He saw his twin's gaze again, that lifeless gaze, devoid of the passion and innocence that had characterized Dream until then.

“... Fuck.”

He smashed his fist against the wall, ignoring the pain that ran through his phalanges, a pain that was nothing compared to what his brother had surely experienced. His soul was twisted, consumed by a guilt that grew with every minute, and soon it was only a muffled sob that escaped him:

“...fuck…”

He screwed up. He screwed up all the way.

* * *

Dream didn't know if he'd gone back to sleep or not. In any case, it was only a few knocks on his door that made him open his eyes again, turning his head towards the newcomer who had allowed himself to enter without being invited.

And he could not help but feel the sight of Ink carrying a meal tray for him.

They stayed for long minutes looking at each other without any of them daring to make the slightest gesture, daring to say a word. The silence, which had become embarrassing from the first few seconds, only became more tense when the painter finally decided to approach the bed, put the tray on the bedside table and turned his attention to Dream.

The Dream Keeper had no trouble perceiving the dark circles under the eyes of the Creator, but he did not deign to speak up. On the contrary: he turned his eyes away, looked out of the window to contemplate the sun, which was gently declining.

Ink tightened up, his throat tied. His friend's reaction had been enough to add to the weight on his shoulders. 

“... Hey, Dream... It's been a while... !”

He had tried a poor smile, a light greeting, but his clumsiness and anxiety did not help him, nor did the ignorance of the guard. But the Creator was known to persevere, so he insisted: 

“... How do you...

\- Don't do that.”

Ink froze, confused, his smile vanished. Dream's voice had been weak... weak but cold.

“I'm alive as you can see. You don't have to worry about the multiverse anymore.”

The painter became paler than he already was, his mouth trembling under the veiled accusations of his best friend:

“Dream, I don't understand... What does it have to do with the multiverse? Well, I just...

\- Were you worried about me, about my health? Oh, well... Ahah... don't make me laugh…”

Dream looked at him again. But if it was to receive an accusing look, full of anger and regret, Ink would have preferred that he continue to ignore it. 

“It seems you don't know this Ink... but now the multiverse can live without harm, even with the guardians gone. Really, you don't have to worry about that anymore. 

\- ... Do you realize what you're saying?”

The creator felt a painful sensation in his chest, where his soul should have been. A sensation he usually only had when he drank his sorrow potion. A feeling he hated to have, even more in the presence of Dream, and this feeling only became stronger, more painful, almost making him want to cry if he could only cry by himself.

“Dream, right now it's not the multiverse that matters to me but you... ! 

\- I told you to stop.”

Dream looked away again:

“Stop with the fake compassion, the overplayed friendship... 

\- ... on ... ? Dream, what the hell are you talking about? We're friends! We're friends for real!”

Ink had raised his voice, had raised his voice like never before, his body trembling under another sensation, the sensation that twisted him when he swallowed his potion of anger. He had felt the effects of his potions before, but never before had it been so strong, so hard, so unbearable to feel. 

And he petrified. The few emotions he was feeling escaped him, evaporated with the understanding of these last words, words he never thought he would hear from Dream:

“How can we be friends, you don't even have a soul.”

The Creator stood there, his eyes wide open, his pupils turning back into simple white circles. Silence fell again, and lasted so long that the atmosphere became suffocating.

And as quickly as he had come, Ink left the room.

Dream looked at the ceiling without worrying about the meal. He wasn't hungry, he didn't want anything. Nothing except this calm that had just been established, this serenity that had won him after the words he had finally said to Ink, these words that had been burning his puck for so long already. These hurtful words, these painful words, ....these words that didn't sound like him. Those words that he should never have said.

[  **Freeze ]**

His world collapsed again as he became aware of what he had done.

**[ Straightens up ]**

His mouth ajar could not make any sound. What could he have said anyway?

**Was he sorry? Was he really sorry?**

**  
** **[ Why, as he took pleasure in saying those words, pleasure in guessing Ink....'s discombobulated look ]**

**  
** **WHY WAS HE IN SO MUCH PAIN?**

**  
** **[ FUCKIN' HELL, WHY DID YOU WANT TO CRY? WHY DID HE WANT TO CRY AFTER THAT? ]**

He took his head in his hands, repressed the flood of tears that came to him, which seemed to crack him from the inside.    
He needed to let off steam, he needed to hurt, he needed to hurt someone, anyone!    
But it wasn't him, no it wasn't him! He needed to help others, not push them down! He was supposed to be kind, not mean! Gentle, not offensive! He was supposed to be .....

**WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO BE?**

He screamed, he screamed from the depths of his being, his rage and incomprehension taking over, suffocating him with this guilt that he could no longer feel.    
But what was bothering him? What was really bothering him? Why couldn't he put clear thoughts into it?   
He didn't want it to turn out this way, he didn't want to end Ink this way, he didn't want to become a horrible being, he didn't want... he didn't want this anymore, he didn't want this shit, this life, these terrors, these.... ....

“ **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH** !”

His raspy voice only made his cry more pathetic, more laughable, and suddenly he started to laugh. Laughing at the person he had become, the person he had always been. Laughing at this miserable being that everyone had loved for so long, this miserable being who was just a stupid, stupid, stupid skeleton...! 

And his faint laughter that mingled with his muffled cry was interspersed with his jolts, his incomprehensible and confused sobs that accompanied the bitter tears that flooded his face, which made him feel like he was going completely mad. 

  
Laughing and crying at the same time, shouting and smiling as if it were natural, wasn't that the beginning of dementia, the announcement of the madness that possessed him? 

“DREAM!”

He cowered, like a defence mechanism, defence against that voice he could no longer bear. No, no he couldn't hear Nightmare anymore, he didn't  **want to** hear or see it anymore!!!!    
He tightened the grip on his skull, his dying laughter to leave only his tears of terror. He knew, he knew what his brother would do, he was preparing for the impact, he was preparing for his horrors, his tentacles, his sermon, his  **torture** ...! 

...

There was nothing.   
None of that.

...

There was no ....

...

There was only soft touch. Soft and feverish. Soft but trembling.

...

A ....hug.

...

How long has it been ....

...

**[When was the last time he hugged him?]**

.... 

Dream didn't even have the presence of mind to struggle, to shout again, to try to escape this hold. The shock was far too great, too violent. It remained just ....like that. Mute with stupor. Eyes wide open.

Unable to raise his head to his brother.

Unable to believe it was real.

When his twin let go of him, walking a few steps away, Dream remained silent again, his eyes devoid of pupils, as if he had been disconnected, that he had bugged. He remained with his arms dangling, sitting in his bed, head down, as if emptied of any notion of life.

“....Dream...?”

He's not responding to his brother's voice. He didn't know how to react. He didn't know ... didn't understand who he was, what his role was, what his identity was for him and for others.

It seemed to him ....

**[It seemed empty to him.]**   
**[ Emotionally void ]**

* * *

Nightmare came out of the room even more feverishly than the last time. He imperceptibly clenched the fist he'd hurt himself earlier, waking up the pain that had eased ....slightly, and threw it back against the wall, with all the rage that inhabited him at that moment.   
But he couldn't break his bones as he wished: a hand grabbed his wrist and stopped him in his gesture. He clenched his teeth, his eyes glued to the wall, not deigning to  **look at** the newcomer:

“...let go of me, Cross.    
\- Hurting you won't change anything.”

Nightmare strongly repulsed him:

“AND THEN? AT LEAST IT BLOWS! -   
It's no us....   
\- IT WON'T DO ANYTHING BUT IT'S DOING GOOD, YOU SEE? IT'S USELESS BUT IT'S A WAY TO PUNISH THE ASSHOLE WHO HURT HIS BROTHER, THE ASSHOLE WHO PUSHED HIM OVER THE EDGE! IT'S NO USE AT ALL M…”

He almost choked on Cross, almost cracked when he felt him hugging him, clutching him, holding him to his chest in his warm but trembling embrace. ....   
Cross lowered his voice, as if he was afraid to break it by raising his voice too much:

“...you're not the only one responsible.... why... why do you always go to extremes? Why does everything have to be all black and white? Why do you have to be the one and only bad guy?”

The swordsman tightened his grip, hardly swallowing his saliva: 

“... "Black apples darken you. Night.... is what made you hurt your brother..... You have your share of responsibility, but it's not entirely your fault......”

His throat tied, pushing him to hide his face in the neck of his superior, to conceal his treacherous tears that troubled his life: 

“...I have no excuse. I don't have the black apples, I don't have Chara anymore. I'm just... just me. Just me who spent time with your brother, who took advantage of his kindness, his smile, without ever seeing... without ever seeing me…”

His words died as did his will. He gritted his teeth, shamefully stepping aside, but wondered at being restrained, at being brought back against the body of his superior.   
And Nightmare clumsily stroked his back, trembling. He gave him little comfort when he himself was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Cross couldn't even smile. He closed his eyes, his soul clenched, as the voice of his leader rose: 

“...aren't you going to see Dream?    
\- I'd like to... I just wish... I wish he'd hit me if it would make him happy, hurt me if it would make him happy... But I'm too scared that just seeing me will make him worse. He'll…”

“ _ He hates me now, he'll never want me again, _ ” said his weak sobs instead of his voice. Nightmare remained silent.

Silence was the only adequate response. 

* * *

Dream hadn't taken his eyes off the sheets, hadn't changed his position, hadn't moved a millimetre since his last 'interview' with his brother. His notion of time was flawed, abstract, just like his feelings, his thoughts.

He didn't know how he felt. He didn't know what he wanted anymore.

But his body wasn't of the same opinion.

He clearly heard the gurgling that escaped him, betraying the hunger that had finally caught up with him. Yet he did not feel like swallowing anything, but his mind was no longer able to make any decision, and it was not automatic that he stood up, shivering at the contact of his bare feet against the cool ground.

He was wearing just a simple t-shirt and Bermuda shorts, nothing good going down or very hot. But in all honesty he didn't even notice his outfit, concentrating instead on the pain going through his body, trying to take one step at a time without collapsing. 

With muffled footsteps he moved forward while brushing against the walls. His gaze lingered slightly on what surrounded him, on his corridors so familiar and yet so different ... The castle of his childhood, the one where he had lived and grew up with his brother.

He lowered his eyes, unable to look down at the place, unable to remember the so-called 'good memories' without feeling the pinch in his soul, the pain in his chest. 

He sniffed softly, feverishly passing his arm over his swollen eyes for fear of crying again. He couldn't stand the cracking, the sobbing for nothing... 

He dragged himself pitifully into the kitchen, finding his way around with difficulty. Night had fallen, only making the place darker and more terrifying, but it was nothing for Dream. It was nothing after the place of darkness where his mind had been locked during that week of coma.

A sigh escaped him, weary and difficult, pulling slightly on his irritated throat. He reached, after an interminable journey, to the kitchen door. But as he was about to enter, he froze in the doorway.

At first it was violent, painful feelings that hit him hard. Negative feelings mixed with resentment, regret, anger and bitterness. Chaotic feelings, but controlled enough not to be projected beyond a certain perimeter, as if the person releasing them did not want them to be felt. Didn't want  **Nightmare to** feel them.

Dream finally dared to look up, feverish, touched by this unknown suffering ... and his eyes fell on Dust. Dust who was sitting at the table, his face immersed in his hands, trembling and sobbing, whispering 'sorry, I'm sorry' interspersed with a strong breath, vein attempts to contain himself.

Dream didn't know what to do. He hesitated to turn back, to pretend he hadn't seen or heard anything, for fear of embarrassing his counterpart ... but his distress prevented him from moving, from abandoning him to his fate.

**[He couldn't leave him like that.]**

“Dust…”

The other one jumped violently, petrified at the understanding of this frail voice. He did not turn back to him, probably ashamed to be surprised at such a moment.

Dream didn't insist. He didn't say another word. He simply took one step, then another, then another, and another before reaching the height of the table, to take a seat next to the other skeleton. He didn't look at him, he didn't want to show him that he had seen him crying. But gently, delicately, he slid his hand over the wooden furniture, reached Dust's arm and pulled slightly on it. 

He met with no resistance. Probably caught the killer off guard.

**[ Slipped his hand in his]**

**[ Gently intertwined their knuckles ]**

Dust shuddered, confused by the heat that crept into him, which swept away the terror that tugged at his soul. He timidly observed Dream who had lowered his eyes and at last, at last he understood: for the first time in his life he was dealing with the warm aura of the little guardian, this aura at the antipodes of that of Nightmare. A delicate aura, as tender as marshmallow, which enveloped him with love and gave him the impression of floating on a cloud, of being rid of his worries even if only for a while ... 

**[ He understood better why some people went crazy... ]**

Dust became more perplexed. Now that he was no longer in the grip of his crying fit, he was better able to think properly, and this surprised him. He tightened his grip on the youngest's hand, looking at it with curiosity:

"Why are you doing this? You should take care of yourself before you worry about other people. »

Dream raised his head, looking stunned, stunned by his comment.

“But... you weren't well…”

Dust frowned:

“So what? You count less than the others? 

\- ... I....”

__ _ Yes _ . His eyes screamed  _ yes, his _ body screamed  _ yes, _ his panic screamed  _ yes _ . His whole being screamed  _ YES _ ,  _ YES  _ he counted less than the others! 

And Dust was struck by that feverish look, by that little scared and terrified skeleton, that little innocent skeleton who, in spite of his anxiety and suffering, had come to comfort and support him. This little guardian that he was rediscovering, not as a naive kid who knew nothing about real life, but as an injured young adult who was trying to hold his head high.

Dust no longer felt the warm aura. All he felt was an icy embrace, a spike that struck his soul. He gritted his teeth.

He pulled Dream against him.

“... It's time to think of you, little caretaker.”

The little dream opened up. This strangely familiar embrace had something different, different from what Nightmare had given him earlier. Something snapped in his throat, pushed him to crack,  **again,** pushed him to cry,  **again** ... He buried his face against the torso of the tallest one, came to hug him, grabbed him like he would have grabbed a lifebuoy. 

He stopped trying to repress his sobs. Dust didn't once try to calm him down.

They simply stayed, for a long time, embraced one another, in the deserted kitchen.


	7. [That sweet dream I have to protect]

_ “How can we be friends, you don't even have a soul.” _

His phalanges tensed on his crumpled scarf, like a meagre attempt to find comfort. To find comfort in this piece of cloth he had been dragging for so many years, which he thought he was attached to. But...   


_ “You don't even have a soul.” _

Was he really attached to it? Where did he see only in this scarf a way to protect himself, to be sheltered from the cold while having a support to write down his thoughts, his ideas that he forgot so quickly because of his short memory.

_ “You don't even have a soul.” _

Ink slid his hand over his chest, grabbed his shirt in the very place where a soul should have been. But there was nothing there. There had never been anything.

_ “You don't even have a soul.” _

What had he thought of Dream all these years? What had he thought of Blue, of Error? Was it all a lie? If he couldn't even trust himself anymore, to what point should he turn, what could he be sure of?

“ _ How can we be friends _ ”

They'd never been friends. They were never friends, were they? Ink... had lied to Dream? Was he lying to himself? 

He turned his head and looked at the pale reflection in the window pane, the window that was in the room that Nightmare had kindly lent him. He looked pathetic, the Creator. This mediocre Creator unable to protect his loved ones. How could he claim to protect the multiverse after that? How could he dare to walk with his head held high after his bitter failure towards Dream, after his inability to keep him happy and healthy?

_ “How can we be friends,  _ **_you don't even have a soul_ ** _.” _

He saw his reflection distort, wince with pain, and only escaped this vision by the intervention of his vision that had become blurred, of his tears of guilt that had come to drown his face in silent sobs, sobs that made him close his eyes, bury his face in his scarf, as if to hide, to conceal himself from the outside world. To create a shell, an abyss between himself and the others, to keep the burn that twisted his body in silence.

And cry. Crying like a child, feverish and helpless.

“Ink.”

He jumped, petrified, and did not dare to make the slightest movement. That glitched voice that he would have recognized among a thousand had been heard behind his back, cold and bitter. That voice he would have preferred not to hear today, at this moment, while he was letting his weakness come out.

Ink clenched his teeth, silent, his scarf soaked by his tears.

He shivered.

He shuddered when he felt two arms hugging him gently from behind, pulling him gently against a familiar torso, hugging him possessively and comfortably, imprisoning him in a warm embrace, a cocoon of softness.

“... What happened?”

Ink didn't explain anything. He couldn't say anything, he couldn't accuse Dream. He couldn't put the blame on the guardian of Dreams, but he knew Error and his way of getting carried away. He knew his opposite would blame the Keeper, that he'd make him pay. But surely Dream didn't deserve that, let alone in a situation like this.

Then, for any answer, the Creator gently let go of his scarf, turned slowly towards the other skeleton without daring to look him in the eye. He loosened himself up in his arms, hid his face in his neck, and cracked for good.

He wept his tears, letting his regretful moans resound, and Error squeezed him tighter. Error did not let go of him at any time.

* * *

Dust leaned a little more against the wall, silently watching Dream's drowsy body. This body that seemed to him to be on the verge of shattering despite the care that had been applied to it. Because Dream didn't need bandages, compresses or any kind of magic care.   
Dream only needed support. Support and attention. And Dust felt disheartened that no one had ever thought about it, as if everyone had taken it for granted that the Dream Keeper didn't need anyone, that it was others who needed him.

He stumbled, confused and confused in his feelings. 

  
He loved Nightmare as a friend, a brother even. The master of nightmares had been able to reveal a softer, more loving part of him, a part that Dust had been quick to appreciate and protect. A part that had helped him to regain hope, to open himself up to the other Bad Sanses, to see a family. And he knew that Horror, Killer and Cross thought no less of him. 

  
But damn it, ....Nightmare had crossed the line... and Dust couldn't entirely blame him. After all, he could have stepped in and tried to stop his master, he could have supported Dream and helped him escape. But instead he had just stood there, sniggering at the physical and psychological tortures, mocking the pathetic Dream keeper.

And those memories gripped his soul. So that was guilt and remorse? Oh, Dust knew these terrible feelings so well. Feelings he'd had since he'd killed his friends, killed his brother, all for what? For nothing, nothing at all. Just to leave his world a desolate, desolate world, only full of dust.

What a cruel irony. 

Dust had had the crazy hope of becoming a real monster, the kind that no longer felt anything, no longer thought anything. Just taking pleasure in the killing, the barbarism. Just to indulge his impulses and forget his actions the next moment.

But it didn't work like that. The memories stayed there, rooted deep in his mind, in his bones, in his soul. Anchored in his pupils, anchored in his L.O.V.E. His memories that kept him awake too many times, that made him sleepless nights, that made him cry alone in the kitchen, talking to his ghostly brother, his brother who was only a figment of his imagination.

“Dust…”

He jumped, looked up at Dream. But he was still sleeping tight, with the difference that he had gently frowned. The killer almost had a tender smile: even in his sleep, the guard felt his negative emotions? Even in this state, he continued to worry about him?

“It's all right, little warden.....”

He delicately caressed his skull, covering it with a gentle glance, before turning his back and walking away. He didn't want to impose his bad emotions on her...    
He came into the living room and slumped on the sofa, joining Horror who was reading quietly. There was a short silence between them, before the cannibal looked up from his book: 

“So, how's he doing?    
\- He's bad. Injured and exhausted. He really needs to rest.    
\- Have you started enjoying your nanny role?”

What looked like a joke was taken very seriously by Dust, who leaned his chin on his hand while looking into the wave.

“... He reminds me of Papyrus. Young and innocent, trying to support others despite his weakness.”

Horror tightened its grip, its soul tightened. He understood perfectly what his comrade meant. And then Dust said:

“I want to help him. Really help him.”

The other didn't know what to say, just nodded.   
Silence fell again.

* * *

Dream opened his eyes to wake up as always in this room that wasn't his, this room he was struggling to get used to. But it was nice, that room. So he didn't feel sorry for it, just taking advantage of the rays of light that filtered through the shutters.

The young skeleton was feeling strange, in a kind of a state. That kind of state when you haven't slept enough to be rested, but when you've slept too much to be really tired. That kind of strange, unspeakable in-between.

He rubbed his eyes, yawned softly, and took time to smell the air. A smell caught his attention, a smell that contrasted with the smell of freshness and cleanliness. He turned his head with curiosity, saw a new tray on his bedside table and was surprised: there were only pastries, from chocolate bread to apple pie. The quantity was far too much for his poor little belly, but he still felt salivated.

Shyly he grabbed a piece of chocolate cake and took a bite. The flavor crept into his mouth and spilled onto his puck, making him shiver with pleasure. He quickly took one bite, then another, and in a few minutes the slice was finished. Only a few traces remained on his phalanges, the only evidence of his misdeed, which he hastened to erase with skillful strokes of his tongue.

“You seem to like it.”

He hiccupped, turned his head to the doorway and became embarrassed at the sight of Dust. Dust approached, with a slight smile on his face:

"Horror wasn't sure what you liked, so he did a little bit of everything. Don't force yourself to finish. »

The goalkeeper nodded his head timidly before lowering his eyes, unable to sustain the gaze of the other. But he already felt more comfortable in his presence than with Nightmare's one. 

Suddenly he squealed as he felt a hand resting on his head and gently caressing him. If he was suspicious at first, Dream quickly let himself go to this pleasant contact, intensifying it even by daring to rub himself with it.    
Dust swallowed. The young guardian almost looked like a little kitten in his attitude, he could almost hear him purring with pleasure under his phalanxes.   
Embarrassed, he looked away without trying to move away. He wasn't used to being the one to give comfort...

There were timid knocks at the door, which surprised the two skeletons who suddenly moved away, as if they had been caught at fault. Their faces blushed, and they turned their attention to the entrance, where a visibly amused Horror stood.

“Hey Dust, I'm waiting for you.”

The concerned one grunted:

“Oh, yeah, that's right…”

Dream looked at them shyly, confused:

“Are you going somewhere...?    
\- Yeah," Horror replied. We're going to visit Lust.    
\- Didn't he live in the castle?    
\- Yes, but he left the badlands some time ago, to resume a 'normal' life. We're still seeing him anyway.”

The young caretaker was surprised. Even knowing that the Bad Sanses were close, they didn't think he would keep in touch with each other in this way. It was heartwarming: Lust was emitting many more positive emotions than before, he understood better why now. Finding people who didn't denigrate him for his perpetual heat must have been a great help to the purple skeleton.

Dream gave his two comrades a lovely smile:

“Have fun then.”

This petrified Dust and Horror, their faces taking on a beautiful red hue as they wondered how on earth this little one could also be ....so ....there was not the slightest adjective to qualify him. Cute was a real euphemism to describe Dream!    
Dust exchanged a glance with the cannibal before clearing his throat:

“... Mm... you want to come with us?”

The guard widened his eyes. Coming with... them? To finally get out of this gloomy castle in which he had been locked up for days, to reconnect with the sun, to feel free again? He would have liked, he would have liked ....so much,    
but he hadn't forgotten his brother's words.

“ _ I'm serving as your 'catalyst'. It only works if you're close to me.” _

He couldn't leave the castle, otherwise corruption would gain him. Corruption could turn him into Shattered ... or even his brother. And if that happened, he would put others at risk again. He would hurt again.    
He didn't mean to.

“No, it's okay…”

He had lowered his eyes, attracting the worried looks of the other two. Dust insisted:

“Dream you can...    
\- Don't force yourself, the guardian cup. You don't need to bring me pity. I'm fine here.”

After all, that was the reason he asked him to come, wasn't it? He felt sorry for himself. He felt sorry for the kid who had started crying in his arms, too feverish to even walk properly. He pitied this being who served as a brother to the nightmare master, pitied this guardian who was unable to do his job properly. 

“Dream…”

He hiccupped, turned his back on the other two for fear of showing them his tears. But it was too late, they had seen. They had seen that grimace of bitterness, his tears of rage, which had once again come to undo his face.

“Dust, Horror.”

The trio froze in terror. Horror and Dust turned around sharply, uncomfortable. The last thing they wanted to do at that moment had just happened: Nightmare stood behind them, as terrifying as ever, and shot his two subordinates with his eyes. But soon he turned his attention back to his brother with his back to him and his expression softened.

“... I'll accompany you to UnderLust.”

Dream was the first to react, turning around abruptly with a livid expression:

“W... Wha...? But if you go...

\- You're coming with us, get ready.”

Nightmare left as quickly as he had come, leaving the other three with a stunned expression, especially Dream who didn't know how to welcome this news. 

Horror turned to him:

“You've got clothes in the cupboards. Take whatever you want.”

With that, he left in his turn, and Dusty followed suit. At least, before he stopped in the doorway, addressing Dream without looking at him:

“I never felt sorry for you, little warden.”

And the young skeleton was once again alone, confused by the attention and kindness that was suddenly given to him.

He decided to get out of bed after a few minutes for fear of keeping the three skeletons waiting. He didn't want to attract their lightning by taking too long, who could they do to him? But after this morning, he could hardly see Dust and Horror coming after him. But could he really say so? He didn't know them well enough, he couldn't know if... if they were really being nice to him. And as far as Nightmare was concerned, it was no better. His brother's attitude didn't make sense to him anymore: one time he hurt him, then he saved him, then he yelled at him, then he hugged him... 

Dream shook his head. He got lost in his thoughts, wasting only more time. He approached the closet and cautiously opened it, took a shy look inside, and his soul missed a beat. He opened the doors even wider, so that he could see the outfits, his outfits that he thought he would never see again. His outfits that he would recognize among a thousand, even though he hadn't seen them in years.

These were his brother's outfits before he was corrupted. Magical outfits that had grown over time, so that they would always fit the wearer. 

Dream feverishly grabbed a midnight blue shirt, shivering on contact with the silk, the silk so soft that he used to touch it when he was little. He didn't have the slightest hesitation when he put it on, leaving his wealthy clothes on the bed. He then grabbed a pair of purple trousers which he put on in addition to a jacket of the same colour.  Thus dressed, he felt ... strange. He couldn't look at himself properly, the absence of a mirror didn't help him, but he knew that at that moment anyone could have confused him with the Nightmare of the past. Anyone who had seen his brother when he wasn't corrupt. 

But all those people were dead. Only Dream could still remember those days.

He grabbed the jacket trembling, clutching it at the place of his soul. How would Nightmare react when he saw him?

Suddenly he froze, the incomprehension reading on his features. Now that he thought about it... Why were Nightmare's clothes in that room? 

He turned around and looked around the room as he always did. Apart from these clothes, there was no personal belongings here, nothing that could prove that this room belonged to anyone. It looked like a simple unoccupied room, reserved for guests. But then... why did he have that strange feeling?

“Are you ready?”

He jumped, looked at Horror who had just returned to the room. There was a brief silence during which the cannibal looked at him, visibly astonished, before he spoke again:

“Wow, it's weird to see you dressed so darkly. But it looks good on you.”

He approached him and suddenly held out an object. An object very familiar to Dream: his crown.

“It was damaged, Horror explained. But Cross managed to repair it.”

The guard tensed up. He lowered his eyes to the object, looked at it as if he had discovered it for the first time, before turning his eyes away :

“... I don't want it anymore.”

Horror made no secret of his astonishment, but even though he wanted to insist, Dream's defeated face silenced him. He sighed and shrugged:

“Okay, suit yourself. We'd better hurry, the others are waiting for us.”

Dream nodded and left the room first. Horror pretended to follow him but stopped in his tracks. He gently placed the crown on the bedside table, praying that the little skeleton wouldn't take it the wrong way.

After all, that crown meant a lot to the keeper. Far too much...

  
  



	8. [I don't know what I like better between suffering and dying.]

Underlust was not the most pleasant place to live, Dream had always known that. The signs were multiple: a lot of negativity came from this world, and the dreams of the inhabitants were ... hard to watch. Very hard to look at. The young caretaker had already found himself giving dreams that he himself didn't want to describe, so ashamed of what he had created. But he had continued to give birth to dreams that he hated, simply because it made other people happy. People who perhaps didn't deserve to be happy after all... 

He shook his head. No, he couldn't think like that. Everyone deserved to be happy. Didn't they? What was he supposed to think now... ? Now that he'd faced the harsh reality? He didn't know. He didn't want to know anymore. He didn't want to go back into anyone's dreams for a while, let alone the dreams of the Undertlust.

And Underlust was worse than he imagined. Ink had warned him several times, telling him not to go there physically because it could go wrong, and Dream had obeyed him without hesitation, believing that he didn't need to set foot there anyway, that going into dreams was more than enough.

Yeah, he should have settled for dreams... 

The streets were crowded, full of monsters laughing loudly, jostling without deigning to apologize, reeking of alcohol, cigarettes and drugs. All this mixed together gave a certain headache to the poor Dream who could barely keep up with the march, looking for Dust, Horror or Nightmare eyes, for fear of getting lost in this oppressive crowd.

But he couldn't see them anymore. Panic gripped him as he turned his head in all directions, not understanding how he had lost them so quickly. He tried to concentrate on their magic, but was lost when he was hit again. He grimaced as the pain in his arm woke up, only intensifying his anguish a little more, and he thought he was cracking when a wandering hand slipped across his buttocks.

But this hand did not remain for long: its owner screamed in terror, collapsing to the ground groaning in pain, holding his arm, which had just been broken at a perfectly abnormal angle. Dream held his breath, frightened ... before feeling a familiar hand grasping his arm. He turned to his brother who had joined him and shot the wounded monster with his eyes:

"Don't walk away from me. »

He pulled him into the crowd, managing to pull them out of there and into a quieter alley where Dust and Horror were waiting for them. Nightmare stopped, turned to Dream and examined it carefully, afraid that something worse than the wandering hand might have happened to him.

“Are you gonna be okay, Dream?” Horror asked softly. 

The man nodded feverishly, but he was clearly not well in this world of debauchery. Nightmare gave Dust a look, a hesitant look that was understood as 'I don't know what to do, help me'. Dust in turn approached Dream and gently put a hand on his head, gently caressing him with a comforting smile:

“Don't worry, the rest of the night's gonna be a lot different.”

He took him by the hand and led him to a rather remote house, far from the bustle of the city. Nightmare held back a grunt: he wanted Dust to help him, but he wasn't sure he appreciated the strange closeness between him and his brother.

Horror was the first to knock at the house, a huge smile appearing on his face as hurried footsteps were heard inside the house. Dream was surprised, looking with curiosity at the cannibal's attitude, feeling the joy and excitement that was climbing inside him at a crazy speed...

Until the door opens, making it reach the climax.

Lust threw him out of the house, right into the arms of Horror, knocking him over and collapsing in the snow, before the astonished eyes of Dream.

A great burst of laughter resounded, a soft, crystalline laugh. Lust stood up, radiant with joy, on all fours over Horror that he was devouring with his eyes:

“Hello, darling, you're late!”

Horror's smile grew much bigger and he rose abruptly, taking the purple skeleton in his arms and spinning it while holding it close to him:

"Plum! I missed you! »

The concerned one laughed again and came to kiss him passionately. 

Dream widened his eyes. He looked at Dust yawning, obviously used to such a spectacle, before turning to Nightmare who looked away with some uneasiness, then he returned to Horror and Lust who were finishing kissing.

“Y ... You're... ?” he stammered shyly, not knowing what to say.

Plum turned to him and opened his eyes wide:

“Dream?! Wow, I didn't recognize you!”

But his face suddenly became much more worried. Confusedly, he looked at the bad guys:

“Um... Wait, I didn't know anything... You took it off again? I told you I wasn't part of your plan anymore! 

\- We didn't kidnap him, Horror replied. There was... some trouble. 

\- Worries that don't concern you.” cut Nightmare cold before going into the house.

Lust raised an eyebrow, looked again at Dream who had come to cower behind Dust, trembling. The fragility of the guardian of dreams struck him immediately, gripping his soul more than usual. He approached him gently and approached with a tender smile:

“I hope these fools don't treat you too badly... Anyway you're welcome in my house!”

Dream hesitated for a little while before finally moving away from Dust, to give a feverish smile back to Plum who was even nicer than he remembered. Eventually they all entered the house and the caretaker felt much more at ease. 

This house had nothing to do with the outside, not even with his brother's castle. It was a place with a pleasant smell of flowers and warm colours. The floor was heated, an aperitif was placed on the coffee table in front of the TV and the same TV was broadcasting the music videos of the multiverse in the background.

Dream let out a sigh of comfort, relaxing completely in this quiet atmosphere. He shivered, however, when Dust put a hand on his shoulder:

“Will you come and sit down?”

He gently nodded his head and let the taller one lead him to the couch where they both settled down, while Nightmare settled into a recessed chair and Horror and Lust went into the kitchen. 

Dream immediately riveted his eyes on the television screen, afraid to meet his brother's gaze. But his brother was getting heavy on the feverish shoulders of the little dream. An intense look, too intense, which did not leave him, which analysed him, which gave him an unpleasant burning sensation.

No, Dream didn't understand this sudden interest in his person, this special attention his brother had been paying to him since his death.... crisis. No, he didn't understand how the prince of nightmares could suddenly change his attitude, trying to protect him from other dangers. In the end, however, it was not so surprising: Nightmare was possessive. Perhaps he wanted to protect Dream only because he aspired to kill it with his own hands?

But in this case, why didn't he do it before? Out of pity, guilt? What a vulgar joke, the prince of nightmares helping the keeper of good feelings...

But what good feelings, when he himself could no longer feel them?

Dust's hand made him jump again. He turned away from his thoughts and turned to his neighbour, who covered him with a serious look. Much too serious. As if he could guess his deepest thoughts. 

Dream shivered, wanted to get away from him but held back. He restrained himself when his comrade offered him a drink, gave him a very slight smile. He swallowed his saliva, not understanding why this smile had such an effect on him, such a warm feeling in his stomach.

He accepted the glass feverishly, didn't ask himself the slightest question as he slowly took a sip.

The taste of alcohol made him tense. He didn't like it. He hated it. The bitter taste, too bitter, too strong, that made his head spin in a very unpleasant way. He usually avoided it as much as possible, but tonight ... tonight he allowed himself another sip, then a third.

He let the liquid drain down his throat, gently burning it from the inside.

But the suffering was so minimal compared to what was being inflicted on him up to that point... So minimal that it almost became a pleasure. As if the spirit of the little dream was mocking, taking down this suffering that wasn't really a suffering, as if it sneered, "Ahah, I've been through worse, you can't have me!"

Taken by a desire to defy this pain, to take his limits from above, he finished his glass in one last sip, to return the container to Dust with a look that meant "I want some more".

Dust gauged him for a moment with his eyes before his smile grew larger. He served his young comrade again with great pleasure, ignoring the threatening look that Nightmare had on his face.

Dream's mind quickly fogged up. He was no longer really aware of what was going on around him, only vaguely understood that Horror and Lust had come back into the living room and were chatting with Dust, exchanging words that the caretaker didn't understand, laughing at times without when Dream was fully certain.

The guardian of good emotions simply let himself go in the couch, savouring his third glass of this alcohol which he didn't have the name of, but which seemed to do him good with each sip. 

When he had finished that third glass, he felt as if he was floating, as if he had become lighter. He held his glass out in front of him, towards the silhouette he recognized as Dust. He liked Dust. Dust was nice, very nice... The proof was that Dust poured him a fourth time, and it was with an uncontrolled laugh that Dream drank his new drink.

Nightmare frowned:

“Dust, don't tighten it any more.”

But his subordinate ignored him to serve a fifth glass. The negative prince's tentacles became nervously agitated as their owner tensed up a little more, not appreciating the glow he perceived in Dust's eyes. A gleam of anger and defiance, as if the other was trying to push him over the edge.

“Dream has the right to have as much fun as we do.” Dust simply replied.

But that wasn't what Nightmare was thinking, Nightmare knew that. He knew his subordinate: even he wasn't vicious enough to dare to get someone drunk against his will.

“Do you think he's having fun? replied the master. He's on the brink, and you're pushing him further into it by serving him like this! 

\- So what does it matter to you? Yet it was you who sought to destroy it.”

Nightmare froze, as did Horror and Lust. The latter two hadn't said a word when they noticed the tension between their two comrades, and Dust's last line had ended the atmosphere.

Nightmare's appendages got a little more agitated. 

“Yes, I was trying to destroy it. 

\- You're the one who pushed him over the edge.”

Another slap in the face for the prince of nightmares who was becoming increasingly confused and annoyed by his henchman's attitude. What exactly was Dust looking for? He wanted to make him regret it, to make him face his mistakes when he KNEW that Nightmare was already prey to deep guilt, hatred and anger towards himself? And what was the point of making Dream drink? Was it to preserve the young guardian, that he didn't become aware of their brutal exchange? 

Even if they did, Nightmare couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let Dram drink knowing that his brother hated it. Knowing that his brother would probably feel much worse the next day, when he would wake up with an unbearable hangover and a deep regret for having let himself go.

Because Dream didn't like to let go. He had never been taught to relax, to let go, to think about himself and not about his responsibilities.

“I'm taking him back.” Nightmare coldly let go of Nightmare as he stood up, retrieving his twin who could barely keep his eyes open, completely exhausted from the alcohol that had drained what little energy he had.

Dust remained silent, reluctant to start a fight which he was sure to lose in a home that was not his own, at the risk of further hurting the little dream that was drowsing.

* * *

Nightmare appeared in his room in a snap. If the return trip had been without the slightest problem, the arrival in his home changed his brother's behaviour: Dream began to gesticulate vehemently, trying to escape the tentacles that held him firmly while moaning plainly.

“Stop it.” Weighed the master of the house, who certainly wasn't in the mood to deal with a whim, as he tried to undress his brother to put him to bed.

Dream wiggled more beautifully, emitting nothing but squeaks and semblance of incomprehensible sentences. His eyes veiled by alcohol didn't even seem to distinguish where he was or with whom, but it was clear that he didn't appreciate being deprived of his movements.

Nightmare sighed again, realizing that he would achieve nothing with this method. He decided to drop his twin - more or less gently - on the bed, before the twin whimpered and rolled into a ball in the blanket. The prince of nightmares raised a perplexed eyebrow, tidying his tentacles to approach the bed:

“Dream?”

Another squeak. This time, the master of the house had a twinge in his heart, especially when he saw his brother trembling under the duvet. He was terrified. Terrified of Nightmare's presence, even if he didn't do anything to him. 

The prince of negativity came and sat down gently on the bed, put a hand on his brother's back and guessed his brother through the duvet:

“Dream, you need to get into your pajamas. You can't sleep like that.”

A short silence during which Nightmare slowly rubbed the back of his cadet, in a timid attempt to calm him down. Finally, Dream took out his face, casting a misty look at his brother, before simply pulling himself out of the blanket to find himself sitting on the mattress as well. Seeing that he wasn't making any more gestures, the owner went back to his original goal, which was to undress his brother.

He removed the purple jacket gently but did not hesitate to throw it to the ground without the slightest respect. The sight of these clothes disgusted him, even more so when they were worn by his brother. These clothes... These clothes reminded him of too many memories, too many things that were long gone, too bitter things that he preferred to forget. To tell the truth, he didn't even know why he had kept them, let alone why he had left them to Dream. 

He held back a growl, not wishing to frighten his younger brother again, who had closed his eyes, just about to fall asleep. He let his phalanges run over the blue shirt, removing one by one each button before removing it fully, to send him to join the jacket.

And Nightmare froze. 

Oh, he'd already had a chance to see his brother's body. Many, many times. He had seen him a few days before, when he was treating him and changing his bandages. Yet tonight, in the faint moonlight, the body seemed even more fragile than before, as if his brother's bones had become porcelain, glass that could be broken by a touch. The wounds were not healing well, the bruises did not go away, and Nightmare cursed herself. Oh, yes, he cursed himself for being the cause of most of his wounds.

It was an automatism, a reflex, to slide his fingers over an old, very old scar on one of his ribs. A gesture that sent a shiver down the spine of the guardian of dreams, making him open his eyes in surprise. 

“N-Night...?”

First understandable word from Dream. First word that froze Nightmare, the petrifying stupor. 'Night'...., the nickname given to him by his childhood brother. The nickname was full of love, which showed their complicity. That nickname...

“...how can you still call me that...?” the corrupt being whispered, his voice trembling without him noticing.

His gaze still wandered through the wounded body, as he felt a horrifying desire to cry taking hold of his soul. His phalanges rested on his brother's hips, with a delicacy that he did not know himself.

“... Dream.... I'm sorry…”

A sob escaped him in spite of himself:

“I'm so sorry…”

He clenched his teeth, closing his eye to keep his tears from coming out. His forehead came to rest against his brother's bare shoulder. He tightened his grip on his little body, slipped his hands behind his back to hold him tight, to feel the little golden soul beat weakly.

“...you should never have had to go through all this, ....you didn't deserve this....!”

What a prick he'd been, what a fucking prick he'd been! A jerk, the worst brother, the worst monster of the multiverse!    
Nightmare would've probably continued to insult each other for a long time, would've probably hurt his physical integrity... if Dream hadn't stopped him, hadn't hugged him.

The master of the house opened his eyes. His twin responded to his embrace as forcefully as he could, but not without violent tremors:

“... N-Night.... Don’t cry Night.....”

This wave of kindness, this attention that Dream paid to him, had the gift of striking a fatal blow to the master of nightmares who melted into tears, burying his face in his neck.   
In this strange clear darkness, Dream and Nightmare mingled with cruel sadness.

* * *

Nightmare hadn't noticed he'd fallen asleep. Perhaps his anguish towards his brother had exhausted him far more than he had let on, pushing him to fall asleep with his twin, keeping him close to him while he plunged into a sleep devoid of dreams and nightmares, not even allowing him to do his job as a guardian.

No, he had not noticed how tired he was, how his mind had finally lost itself in the meanders of unconsciousness. He had not noticed anything ... until a scream woke him up, roughly dragged him out of his sleep and brought him back to reality.

He opened his eyes, his senses on the lookout, without making the slightest movement, while he felt his appendages vibrating in his back, ready to attack the slightest enemy. But they calmed in the moment when, from the corner of his eye, Nightmare saw his brother. 

Dream had once again sat down, went through intense spasms as he grabbed his skull, unconsciously scratching himself, his eyes wide open in terror, and the ghastly breath. This vision petrified the nightmare master, who only had the presence of mind to act when his brother let go of his skull to make his soul appear.

Nightmare knew immediately  **that he had to intervene.**

His tentacles spun towards his brother, grabbed his wrists suddenly, forcing him to release the little golden soul.

“LET GO OF ME!”

Dream's scream made him shudder, but he didn't let go. He didn't understand what he was taking from his brother: had he had a nightmare?

“GET OFF ME NOW! DON'T! FUCKING NIGHTMARE !”

The master of the place hiccupped, destabilized by the sudden wave of negativity he perceived, which almost made him bend.

“Dream, calm down, it was only a...!    
\- I HAVE TO DESTROY IT! NOW!”

Dream violently bit a tentacle, surprising his twin who slightly loosened his grip under the pain. The guardian of dreams used this opening to struggle, reaching out his hand towards his soul, which he grasped without the slightest delicacy, pushing his phalanges into it, ignoring the wave of suffering that turned his stomach.    
His desperate voice rose again: 

“I MUST DESTROY IT! OR ELSE... BREAK....! EVERYBODY GO....!”

He squeezed harder, breathing faster and faster, much too fast, caught in a painful coughing fit when a cracking sounded, a slight crack formed on the golden surface.

Nightmare slammed him violently against the bed, making him yelp with surprise, before his tentacle almost broke his wrist, forcing him to let go of the little battered soul.   
The Prince of Darkness threw himself upon the poor inverted heart, brought it back against him in panic, looking with horror at his brother screaming for death and continuing to struggle : 

“DESTROY IT! DESTROY IT! -   
\- Dr....    
\- LET ME DIE!”

Nightmare was seized with a cold sweat as he became livid.    
His own soul seemed to crack at the vision.    
There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do. Just stand there, helpless, watching his twin struggling like a demented being, a being who had lost all consciousness. And in his trembling palm he felt the little golden soul palpitating, struggling against negativity. The negativity that he thought he was dealing with but which was coming back even stronger to devour his brother.

The black apples were trying to corrupt the guardian of good emotions. 

Nightmare hardly swallowed his saliva. Never before had he felt so feverish, so helpless in the face of a situation. 

Tenderly he began to pamper the little soul, to make little circles with his thumb to caress it, to calm it, to limit and suck up some of this parasitic darkness. His own magic began to work, trying to attract negativity towards him. But ....it was far too strong, even for him.

Nightmare felt faint. He felt himself faltering as the hours rolled by with a slowness he could not have described. He felt himself faltering as, little by little, the cries subsided, the blows too.   
He did not allow himself a break until he was sure that Dream would no longer touch his life. That the moment he saw his sweet twin fall once again into the arms of Morpheus.

And Nightmare fell apart.

His body shattered against the icy ground.

The irregular breathing, much too fast for a living being, seemed to crush him from the inside. His magic crackled, crackled in an unpleasant way, as if to lecture him, to tell him that he was going too far, that he could not afford to do more.

He grunted, got up painfully, keeping the little golden soul in his hand.

He dragged himself to the door, went out into the corridor, slid against the wall and watched the darkness in silence. Then he looked at his brother's frail soul. He shuddered: the soul trembled, as if frightened. Scared ... ...of him. By his aura. By his presence. By his whole being.

The little golden soul needed him to counter the negativity, but was paradoxically terrified of him.

How ironic. But he couldn't afford to give it to Dream. After the way he had tried to take his own life... 

He closed his eyes, glued his skull against the cool wall, sighed. 

He had to trust that soul to someone who could protect it. Someone who would take care of it and be available to Nightmare at any time.

Oh... he already had the perfect candidate in mind. A candidate he trusted completely, even though Dream might not like it.

Yes ... 

**[ He was going to entrust the soul to Cross ]**

  
  



	9. [Help me. Back me up]

Dream was in a coughing fit. A painful, unpleasant cough that irritated his chest and throat. His breathing was heavy, difficult. His whole body seemed to be made of stone, preventing him from moving as he wished. And he was so hot ... too hot...

He painfully opened his eyes. His mind was elsewhere, foggy, making him all the more confused.

He really wasn't feeling well...

“Tch, drinking in your condition was really the worst idea…” he heard next to him.

He blinked softly, could only look sideways for a moment, and had great difficulty discerning his brother who was keeping an eye on him.

“... N-Night... ?” he breathed with difficulty, before being caught up by another coughing fit.

The master of the house frowned, came and put his hand on his forehead and grimaced:

“Shit, like we need this...

\- ... wh-what's wrong with me?

\- You were already pretty weakened. The alcohol added a dose, not to mention... whatever. Just to say that you've got a nasty virus, and your immune system is too weak to save your ass.”

Nightmare sighed, moved slightly aside:

“Go back to sleep, you need to rest. We'll wake you if we need to.”

Dream didn't answer, taking a little while to process the information. He felt... so... tired... 

“...all right... Night…”

His eyes closed on their own. 

He plunged into unconsciousness again.

Nightmare grunted: seeing his brother like that, he had the horrible feeling that he was back to the starting point...

* * *

Horror gazed at the wooden plank, where he'd left some vegetables without knowing how to cook them. Was it better to make a soup, a soup... ? And what vegetables could Dream like?  No, he actually didn't give a shit what Dream liked. The most important thing was to know which vegetables were best suited to heal! Like, uh... Carrots maybe? No, that made it kind of nice. Maybe he should give some to Nightmare? Yeah, no, bad idea, actually...

“Hor', what are you doing?” Dust asked as he entered the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The cannibal sighed, put down his knife before looking at his friend:

“I'm cooking for the sick man. Aren't you supposed to be watching him anyway?

\- Yes, but he fell asleep. And the boss is already at his bedside. I'm gonna wait for him to leave before I go.”

He joined Horror and looked at the vegetables:

“You should add tomatoes. It's full of good things for the body.

\- Mm... It's true. But it's bad acid, I'm afraid he doesn't like it.

\- The most important thing is to heal, right? ... No, you're right. Might as well do something he likes.

\- Yeah... it's bad enough being sick…”

Silence ensued as they both looked at the vegetables and thought about them. Finally, Dust stretched:

“Well, I'll leave you to it, I've got to go and see Cross.

\- Cr.... Why?”

The dustman turned his back on him:

“He didn't come to see Dream once. And quite frankly... It's starting to eat me up.”

* * *

Wait a moment, with a heavy head, full of confusion. Waiting for his gaze on the golden reflections, on the little palpitating soul between his knuckles. Observe it as the most beautiful of treasures. The most fragile of crystals. Observe it and cherish it gently. Cover it with a soft, terribly tender and protective gaze, but filled with a bitter guilt, a suffering that leads to tears.

Cross gritted his teeth, stroked the poor tired heart with the tip of his thumb, without understanding why Nightmare had entrusted him with it. Why to him? Why did he, who had participated in Dream's misfortune, have to watch over the source of his being, of his life? 

Cross didn't understand. He hated himself for not understanding, and he resented Nightmare. He resented him for trusting him so much, trusting him blindly.  Oh, he should have felt privileged and proud, he should have. But... no, no, he couldn't. Not when Nightmare was risking so much by trusting him with his soul. 

Cross resented his superior for giving him such trust ....because he knew he did not deserve it. He didn't deserve it at all. Not when he would believe everything about everything, when he would undoubtedly be the cause of further misfortune. An unhappiness that would soon fall upon the guardians of feelings.

Cross sensed it, and God only knows how much he hated having bad hunches, for these proved to be true most of the time.

He closed his eyes, continuing to cuddle the little golden soul. The little soul who, for some unknown reason, was curling up in his palm, was looking for his touch. 

And Cross felt even worse. He felt even worse when he realized that, even after hurting Dream... he still loved him, still wanted to protect him.

Because Dream was like that.

**[Too nice for his own good]**

Cross was suddenly startled when the door of his room burst open, revealing a Dust as neutral as usual ... although his eyes shone with a most disturbing glow.

Suddenly deeply uneasy, the monochrome stood up, on guard. 

“Dust? Haven't you been taught to knock?" he growled on guard.

\- I'm gonna hit you, asshole.”

The threat contrasted sharply with the calmness of his voice, so much so that Cross thought for a moment it was a joke. But when the other suddenly teleported in front of him and hit him in the stomach, the monochrome grimaced and then backed away sharply:

“Wha... What the hell is wrong with you?!” he exclaimed.

Dust the shot from the gaze:

“No, Dream is! Then you're going to do me the pleasure of going to see him!”

The swordsman shuddered, as he did every time the guardian of dreams was mentioned. He looked away, bitterly:

“I'm probably the last person he wants to see.

\- What do you know about it? Did you even try to talk to him?

\- Don't take me for a fool! You see the signs too! It's bad enough he doesn't want Nightmare anymore, but what about me? He doesn't even want his crown! Because I fixed it for him!”

Dust clenched his fists:

“So what... you're playing the fatalist? You're not even going to insist? You're just gonna stand back and let everyone else take care of Dream?

\- I just... (Sighs)

\- ... ...can't do anything? You, who's been his friend, who's spent time with him, who probably knows him better than any of us, you expect me to believe that you can't do anything?”

Cross swallowed an oath with tears in his eyes:

“...friends... ? I didn't even see that he was in trouble... I betrayed him for his brother... I'm the worst of all...

\- Then take responsibility and go see him. So that he can kick the shit out of you.”

Dust turned his heels without the slightest remorse.

With his soul tight, Cross took a breath to stay calm. He took another look at the little golden soul, which he had held tight throughout the exchange. This little, trembling, feverish soul, who was just asking for attention.

Cross sighed. Apparently he had no choice.

He hid the little golden soul under his clothes, close to his own soul, and left the room in silence, noting that he would still have to have the door repaired.

The crossing of the corridor was difficult, and when he arrived in front of Nightmare's room - which had recently become Dream's - he froze, with a knotted throat.

He didn't dare come in. Even just knocking was torture. He nervously fiddled with his scarf, his phalanges trembling with apprehension, while his mind was preaching to him, screaming at him that he was pathetic. Yes, he knew he was pathetic, that he had to take his courage in both hands! But ....he couldn't. He couldn't do it at all.

He insulted himself mentally, desperate about his attitude, and decided to go back to his room as soon as possible... 

But he didn't get the chance. No sooner had the idea crossed his mind than he saw with horror the door open, revealing Nightmare who stopped at his sight:

“Cross? he wondered.

\- ... hey…”

The monochrome quickly lowered his eyes, his mouth dry, and moved aside slowly to let his leader out. He watched him do so, before simply sighing and passing him:

“Dream sleeps. Please don't rush him.”

Cross answered nothing, shyly rushed into the room and found nothing but dead calm.

He was taken by a shiver.

Dream, his sweet Dream, was asleep in the bed, his heavy but steady breath filling the room. He was just as adorable as ever, but the dark circles on his face and the sweaty fever clearly showed his miserable condition.

Cross approached cautiously, tears burning his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.

Stopping near the bed, he gently raised his hand to the sleeping man's face ... before suppressing his movement and stepping back. He couldn't afford such gestures... not without the guard's consent. 

Cross sighed again. He sat down on the chair by the bed. The chair where Nightmare, or Ink, sat when they watched over Dream. Even though the Creator hadn't returned for a few days.

That was one of the reasons Cross had not shown up: he suspected that Dream and Ink must have had a violent argument, otherwise the painter would have come back. What could have happened? What words had been spoken?

Cross tapped his foot frantically, anxiously. He dreaded the return of the flames...

One movement froze him clean. He held his breath, listening. Dream had moved but hadn't woken up, fortunately. The longer the time stretched, the less the swordsman felt he could cope.

Trembling, he began to observe the window, or rather the curtains among which filtered the rare rays of sunlight from DreamTale. The afternoon was well advanced, yet the castle was very quiet. 

Normally you could hear Killer and Dust bickering, Horror putting music on loudly while he was cooking and Nightmare yelling at everyone. That was the Bad Sanses' daily routine. A hectic but happy daily life, which showed the complicity in spite of all the crap they had done.

Cross was happy about it. Seeing the Bad Sanses softening, becoming more loving, especially Nightmare, he had thought that Dream would be proud of him, that he would be proud to see that he had been right to believe in them!

And there was the result: a destroyed Dream, closed in on itself, as if it carried all the misery of the world on its shoulders. 

Cross had a high heart: how could he not see anything? Not to understand that Dream needed help as much as Nightmare?

He was really... really the worst friend ever. 

He took his head in his hands, closing his eyes to stay in control of himself, not to run away in a second. But it was damn hard. It was always hard to face his mistakes, his responsibility, his guilt.

“... Dream ....I'm so sorry... forgive me…” he whispered.

But the Dream Keeper couldn't hear him, sound asleep.

Cross sighed, straightened his head feverishly. He got up, approached the patient again to observe him attentively. He was like a caged lion, an impatient but hesitant feline who could not make a decision. 

“... I don't want to wake you up... but waiting like this drives me crazy…”

He looked away. His pupils fell on the wreath left on the bedside table. His soul missed a beat. He approached it gently, took the object delicately.

He knew Dream cared about that crown. That's why he had worked hard to repair it, clean it, polish it so that it would fit the young guardian beautifully. He wanted ... he wanted to at least do this for his friend, even if it wasn't much, even if it wasn't worth anything to anyone ... he wanted to show Dream that he was there, present for him.

But Dream wasn't counting on him anymore.

He'd never count on him again.

And this, in addition to crushing Cross's feelings, only made him more confused, and he asked himself again the question: why did Nightmare trust him? Why had he entrusted him with the soul of his twin?

“... Fucking…”

He clenched his teeth, very nearly cracked:

“... Fucking... !”

But he froze in the moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he had perceived a movement. Like a jolt triggered by his exclamation. It made him violently pale and, slowly, very slowly, he turned his head back towards Dream ....who was looking at him.

Cross felt faint:

“D-Dream... !”

The guardian of dreams, who had been asleep until then, had been awakened by the swordsman's raised voice. At the sight of the swordsman, he finished waking up fully and straightened himself up hastily, before cowering in the bottom of the bed trembling, darting a look of panic and anguish over the monochrome.

“Ah, Dream, calm down!” Cross worried, raising both hands, as if to signal that he didn't have bad attention.

The guard's eyes suddenly darkened, before he lowered his head:

“...what are you doing here... ?”

Cross was about to answer but was interrupted by Dream who started coughing quite heavily. Anxious, the swordsman approached to pat him on the back, but the guard pushed back his gesture with a sharp slap on the hand:

“DON'T TOUCH ME!”

The voice was harsh, but cold enough to petrify the swordsman. 

“Dream... 

\- DON'T TALK TO ME! DON'T COME NEAR ME!

-I just want to...

\- HOLD YOURSELF! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP !!!”

If Cross was upset by these screams, he was even more upset when Dream's face turned pale and his eyes mist up with tears. But what finally brought him down, what gave him a masterful slap, were the desperate sobs of the young guardian:

“DON'T PLAY... D-Don't play anymore... with... with my feelings ....I-I…”

Dream pulled his legs back against him, hid his wet face in his arms, his deranged voice rising miserably in the room:

“...don't act... like you care about me... stop using me... !”

His sobs were like a stab for Cross, whose legs trembled under the pressure of his words, his accusations.

“D-Dream, I've... never…”

The monochromatic man fell silent, his eyes wide open with horror, remembering all the times he had come to ask Dream for help, all the times he had cried in his arms, only to turn his back on him and go back to Nightmare, before starting the same merry-go-round again the next day.

He, uh... He used Dream. 

He wasn't a friend, he wasn't anything.

“I-I'm sorry... I…”

He backed away, horrified at his own behaviour, horrified at what he had done to Dream, without realising that his terror had been felt by the guardian of good emotions.

Dream raised his head, his throat tight, and froze at the sight of a Cross on the verge of tears. A Cross who had been hurt by his words... just like Ink.

“... C-Cross …” called out to the little dream.

But the monochrome no longer listened to him, with an empty gaze, as if his terror had disconnected him from reality.

Dream felt a deaf panic take him. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! He wouldn't... He didn't want to hurt Cross, just like he didn't want to hurt Ink! He only wanted to... He only wanted to ....say what was in his heart, to take his anger out on those he felt were responsible for his condition... 

Except they weren't the culprits... They'd only been factors in his illness. His negativity, his suffering had been born from an accumulation of too many things, up to the point where Shattered had appeared. Where... where he had given him the final blow.

Dream rose feverishly, feverish and trembling, his face ravaged by tears. He didn't bother to think, and rushed to the icy tile floor, ignoring his bones, which were crying out for grace to throw himself into Cross's arms, crying, pouring out all his sadness and guilt:

“Cross! Cross please, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I-I!”

The swordsman seemed to come to his senses. He spun in contact with Dream, hiccuped when, in his chest, he felt their two souls coming into contact, uniting in an emotional bond far too powerful, in a wave of fear and anguish.

He sobbed back.

His arms came and grabbed Dream with force, clutching him to his chest, as if for fear of seeing him disappear:

“No Dream, no! It's me, it's my fault, it's all my fault! I should have stayed by your side! I should have... I should have... !

\- C-Cross... no... I pushed you to my brother, I encouraged you, I... it's m-me…”

They couldn't line up a sentence without being cut off by their hiccups, their sobs. Crossed by jolts, unstable one as the other, they fell to their knees, tightly squeezed together, crying hot tears without realizing the situation, nor the place where they were, completely forgetting what was around them. Exhausted and confused, terrified and full of apprehension, they let their feelings pour out without noticing the presence of two other skeletons.

In the doorway, keeping silent, Dust and Nightmare didn't even look at each other. They were well aware that the situation had not been resolved...

But a step had been taken. It was always that way.

* * *

Killer had a funny idea when he suggested watching a movie, saying that " _ Dream had to take his mind off things and staying locked in a room wasn't going to help!  _ "

So the dream keeper had been moved into the living room, lying on the sofa and wrapped in a duvet, while a hot meal stood on the coffee table next to him, within reach of his knuckles.

Horror, who was watching that he was eating well, had come to join him and was leaning on the couch, but was quickly taken by the film that Killer had chosen: "Isn't Romantic". It was a dumb parody of a musical. Killer was there too, sitting on the floor against the sofa, watching TV with passion.

“Do you really like this shit? Horror asked distractedly, who was himself deep in the plot.

\- Yeah... Don't you wonder how she's gonna get home?

\- Not really... I'm more wondering who the jerk is who's gonna marry her. It's gonna end up another clichéd marriage to the best friend, that's for sure.

\- No, not so sure... He doesn't care about guys. And she's right.

\- Wow... you haven't gotten over your breakup with Color toi.”

Killer tensed up, kept his eyes glued to the screen with some discomfort.

Dream, listening distractedly to their conversation, looked at the one with the round soul:

“... You were dating Color... ?” he asked in his broken little voice.

Killer took a quick look at him before lowering his eyes in shame:

“... Yeah. I mean, it only lasted two months…”

He weighed down, anger and regret poisoned his soul:

“Hell, to think I almost left the team for that asshole…”

Feeling his negativity, the young goalkeeper straightened up slightly, enough to gently place a hand on his shoulder. Killer was about to question him about his action but stopped when a gentle warmth came over his body, making him shiver with wellbeing.

Horror looked at them with surprise and perplexity:

“Dream is...

\- My aura, yes…”

Dream avoided their gaze, concentrating on Killer's feelings in order to erase the negativity that was hurting her. When he no longer felt this virulent anger, he withdrew his hand and settled back into the couch, under the circumspect gaze of the other two skeletons.

Killer went back to the movie, embarrassed:

“... Thank you Dream …”

The guard looked at him with big eyes:

“... What's that?

\- Well... I said thank you.”

The youngest remained mute, his face being gently coloured without him noticing. He, in turn, looked at the screen again, but could no longer concentrate on the story.

That was...

**[ It was nice to receive gratitude... ]**

* * *

Nightmare watched tenderly as his twin took care of Killer. Would the guardian of dreams never change? Always worrying about others even when he himself was at his worst?

This observation, although it made him smile, gripped his soul. He turned his heels quickly, hurried across the corridors to his office and locked himself in.

Cross and Error were already waiting for him there, one serious and the other annoyed.

Nightmare turned to the swordsman:

“What's the evolution?”

The monochrome lowered his eyes and carefully took out Dream's soul. 

Nightmare and Error tensed up, alerted by the greyish hue of the little heart. The golden glow was no more, as if the poor soul was sinking, giving up.

This made the Destroyer growl:

“Night, I thought you were handling his negativity.

\- I am, but... I was already having a hard time dealing with mine and the whole multiverse. Having to take care of Dream brings me to my limit.

\- In short, you're telling me you can't stabilize him?

\- No, I'm saying we had to find a solution as soon as possible! Black apples are a poison that you can't get rid of easily, but my brother is 'lucky' to have only eaten three apples.”

The master of the house walked away to his library, from where he took an old book from DreamTale. 

“Normally, eating one to three apples is 'not much'. The effects wear off quickly. But Dream is the guardian of positivity, so these black apples are harmful to him, they cling to his being like the plague …”

Cross shuddered, brooded the little soul with his eyes before straightening his head towards his superior:

“But there is a way to cure him?”

Nightmare put the book on the desk, opening it directly to a certain page:

“I can't say for sure, but we can always try. In a few days, it will be the multiverse ellipse. 

\- Multiversal ellipse? repeated Error with a raised eyebrow.

\- A very rare event that lasts only a few minutes. A moment when opposites become one, when negativity and positivity blend in perfect balance, to start the cycle of the worlds from scratch.

\- What does that basically mean?”

Nightmare snapped the book shut, looking more serious than ever:

“Dream and I used to participate in this event through a ritual left by our mother. I don't know how it will look today... but maybe it's the solution to cure my brother.”

Error scowled:

“What if it doesn't work? Is there a risk that the ritual will go wrong?”

Nightmare didn't respond, which upset the Destroyer:

“I asked you a question.

\- I don't know. The ritual has never failed, we've always been in perfect symbiosis.

\- Except that today you both ate black apples. I'm not sure the balance is 'perfect'!”

The master of misfortune felt a deaf rage vibrate him. He glanced at the glitch, his voice getting darker: 

“You don't know until you try it.”

The atmosphere became colder and Cross became tense, intimidated in spite of himself by the magic of the two other skeletons, which crackled with impatience and challenge.

Error growled, more threatening than ever:

“My duty is to watch over the multiverse and its balance ... and it's clear that Dream's condition makes him a major threat. So let's get things straight Nightmare…”

He looked at the guard with a black look:

“ **The** **moment I considered him a danger, I would shoot him.”**

Nightmare's tentacles wiggled, whipped the air with a ferocity that he struggled to master:

“Killing him will be like upsetting the balance.

\- Do you take me for an idiot? You and your brother watch over emotions and dreams, sure... But need I remind you that you arrived long after the original world, where other AUs?”

He turned his back on them dryly, creating a portal to his void:

“You are useful…”

He crossed the gate, his last words resonating in the sudden silence of the room:

“... **but not necessary.”**


	10. [ Once upon a time...]

**[Once upon a time, he would have given anything to keep it that way.]**

**[ All given to continue their daily lives as he liked it. ]**

**[Until I realized, with poorly concealed horror…]**

**[That all his happiness was a lie.]**

Dream flickers, throat dries up. He kept his eyes glued to the ground, unable to face his brother, unable to face his words.

“... The multiversal ellipse... ?” he blew gently as his hands began to shake in anguish.

**[ Chuckles ]**

**[He wished we'd never told him about it again.]**

Nightmare himself was struggling to look up. His soul and spirit seemed for once to be on the same wavelength as they shouted in a common cry  _ "Shut up, don't talk about it". _

But the nightmare master had no choice:

“Yes, the multiverse ellipse. It's going to happen in a couple of days.”

Dream piteously swallowed his saliva, his fingers coming to play with the bottom of his tunic while his voice became even lower:

“...why... are you talking to me about this... ?”

Flashes were coming at him. Bits of distant memories, too distant, which nevertheless kept a certain clarity in his mind. He and his brother, the rare times when an ellipse had appeared, when they had united, mingled, to the point of merging into a being of light and darkness. 

It was by instinct that he backed down:

“...it was you who didn't want to talk about it anymore…”

Yes, it was Nightmare who had put an end to their complicity, who claimed they didn't want to hear about this ' _ stupid ellipse _ ' anymore. But the guardian of the nightmares regretted it, felt terrible about it, because he was now aware of the magnitude of his words, of the impact that this decision must have had on his twin.

“Dream... I'll be honest. The black apples are consuming you much faster than I feared.”

The Dream Keeper hiccupped, finally raising his face towards his brother to reveal his tear-fogged eyes. This sight petrified Nightmare, who had to use violence to not let his negativity implode.

“They... they're gonna turn me? Or kill me? Dream asked in panic.

\- ... I don't know how much I owe. I just... (Sighs) They should have turned you a long time ago. You should have become like Shattered. I don't understand... why it didn't happen. Why you're still... you.”

Nightmare was feeling fragile. Fragile and helpless. He hated to be misunderstood and feared the moment when the situation would turn more dramatic, when they would reach a real point of no return. But for the time being nothing was at stake, and he preferred to bury in a corner of his mind the threat uttered by Error.

“Dream, I'd like to get your approval for an idea. An idea that could save you.”

The little dream looked away:

“... Why do you want to save me?

\- ... ...l...

\- ... You don't make sense, Nightmare... You go from one idea to another without any explanation... You let me know that you hate me, that you want me gone... Then why are you helping me?”

Nightmare was about to respond but the retreating movement of his twin interrupted him.

Dream lowered his eyes once again, without being aware of the darkness that was taking over his being even more, of his negative feelings which, although mastered until then, were only asking to explode once again, in a much more violent way than facing Ink, Cross, or Nightmare himself.

The sweet dream became icy, his pupils suddenly darkening, accompanying the tension that weighed down the room:

“You've always hated me. What's happening to you? Are you remorseful, you, the master of bad emotions? Or are you waiting for me to feel better so you can stab me in the back?”

Nightmare hiccupped, opening his one eye to his perfectly justified accusations.

Yes, at one time, he probably would have done that. But not anymore. Not now that he's realized what a fucking idiot he is.

He took a step towards his brother:

“Dream...

**\- Back off** .”

The nightmare stopped abruptly, with an unpleasant chill. He gauged his twin with his eyes, wondering for a moment before he was certain that yes, Dream's voice had become more hoarse, full of danger.

**[ Negativity was gaining on him again. ]**

Nightmare gritted his teeth, realizing their time was running out. If his brother started to give up, to let go of negative emotions, he probably wouldn't make it to the ellipse.

“Dream, I...

\- ... wants to sequester me? Tie me up, lock me up, torture me so I'll never see the light of day again? Do you want to keep me in your castle like your precious trophy, to tell you that you will have been the best because it is YOU who will have defeated the guardian of positivity, and not Shattered? Ahah... ahahah... ahahah..”

The giggle froze Nightmare, whose body suddenly became heavy. His soul squeezed painfully as his throat tightened, as he felt a deaf terror take hold of him, exactly the same way as when Dream was in a coma, that he had given him a fit of insanity before shouting his four truths to him.

He wanted to challenge his twin again, to deny what he had said, but the laughter of his brother petrified him, and he thought he was dying of fright when his sweet Dream, his little dream, his adorable brother, raised his head to plant a lifeless gaze in his direction: 

“Ahahahah! Oh my God, that's hilarious ! Why are you looking at me like that Night ? You should be happy, you have everything you wanted ! You even managed to get my soul, that's to say !”

Nightmare is swallowing. So Dream noticed it? At the same time, hard to ignore when your soul is missing...

“What are you going to do with it now? Display it in your art gallery? Attempt to absorb it, unless you want to torture me with it? Because, if you're going to sequester my body and my mind, you might as well go all the way and go straight to the source of my life! Huh? HUH? Ah... AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAH!”

The nightmares are receding.

**[It wasn't Dream]**

He repressed a sob.

**[It couldn't have been Dream!]**

He wiped his eye brightly, lest the tears escape him.

[  **Was this what he looked like when he was corrupted? Was it the spectacle he had given to his twin, the day he had swallowed his black apples, when he had metamorphosed in front of him?** ]

Goddamn, he was still in charge of some bullshit? Of course he did, and life kept reminding him of it every fucking second of his existence.

But right now, he didn't give a shit. His remorse and regrets, he'd deal with them later, he'd take them in his face another time!

“DREAM! I won't do anything to you! Neither to your body nor to your soul! I will never hurt you again! I won't let anyone else hurt you-

\- Mercy then?”

Nightmare blinked, realizing that Dream had cut it off without the slightest hesitation, with a look of false intrigue:

“Is the great master of misfortune then capable of mercy? After all, it's a negative emotion, I suppose it's normal.

\- I-it's not...

\- So that's it, you figured fighting a miserable being wasn't good for you? How would you like to have a worthy opponent again? Even though... Ahah... ahahahahah, have I ever lived up to it? I have my doubts! Why don't you go see Ink, HE is up to the task! He will fight you properly! After all, the Keeper of the Multiverse always puts his duty before his friends! I guess that's what it's like to be soulless too, isn't it p-”

The slap cut him clean off, as did the pain on his cheek.

Dream remained stunned, gently resting his palm on his painful face, before looking at Nightmare who was standing very close to him, trying to understand if ... if his twin had just slapped him good and proper.

“...you can talk about me as you please," the master of woe ....whispered. But don't even deign to insult Ink.    
\- ....What's that? Why shouldn't I? WHY SHOULD I CARE ABOUT THIS SO-CALLED FRIEND?! HE WHO SHOULD HAVE...    
\- WHO SHOULD HAVE COMFORTED YOU, RIGHT? WHO SHOULD'VE SUPPORTED YOU, SEE YOU WERE HURTING?! INK IS THE KEEPER OF THE MULTIVERSE! HE'S GOT A LOT OF PROBLEMS TO DEAL WITH! AND UNLIKE YOU, HE CAN'T FEEL EMOTIONS! HE CAN BARELY FEEL HIS OWN! HOW COULD YOU EXPECT HIM TO KNOW HOW BAD YOU ARE IF YOU'VE ALWAYS…”

... _ hidden _ . The twins widened their eyes.    
Dream acted the same way as Nightmare. From beginning to end. 

**[Hiding his feelings]**   
**[Cracking]**   
**[Corrupting]**   
**[Losing it]**

Dream turns pale:

“No.....”

He took his head in his hands:

“No... no, no, no, no!”

He couldn't... he... Did he really blame Ink? How long had he...? No... no, those weren't his words, not his initial thoughts! Why was he blaming the others? Why was he picking on others?!

Nightmare took his hand: 

“Dream...    
\- I didn't want to!    
\- I know you didn't.    
\- I never meant...!    
\- I know you didn't.    
\- I DON'T THINK THAT!”

His brother pulled at him, squeezed him with all his might:

“I know Dream.”

**[He knew that better than anyone]**   
**[The apples crept into their minds like vile snakes, whispering nonsense, nonsense, nonsense]**   
**[They were corrupting their feelings. They diverted them from those they loved.]**

Dream sobbed: 

“I don't want to be like that...!    
\- ... I know you don't.    
\- I want to get better...!”

Nightmare kissed him gently on the cheekbone:

“I'll take care of it…”

The young dream closed the eyes from which escaped his bitter tears. His trembling palms clutched his brother even harder:

“I'm afraid Night…”

The nightmare placed his forehead against his own, surrounding his twin with his magic and tentacles, embracing him, enclosing him in a warm and protective cocoon:

“...you don't have to see fear.”

**[I'm here]**   
**[I'll protect you.]**

* * *

The living room was plunged into an oppressive silence. Only the particularly cliché and annoying ticking of the clock could be heard in the vastness of the room, and Horror hated himself for thinking he wanted to mess the place up. 

He couldn't get angry, let his blood pressure go through the roof. He was at Plum's after all. And by the way, his adorable Plum was sitting next to him on the couch, gently holding his hand and caressing his palm with the tip of his phalanx.

“It's going to be dangerous... ?” asked the host distractedly.

Horror shrugged his shoulders: 

“I don't know.”

Nightmare had not specified anything, having been satisfied with the minimum information: to carry out a ritual and to cure Dream.

That's easy.

Much too easy.

“... He wouldn't have summoned everyone if it wasn't dangerous, Horror confessed softly, shaking his boyfriend's hand more tightly. 

\- ... And what? I have to expect... not see you again?

\- ... I don't know, Plum. I really don't know.”

He didn't want to lie or give false hope. He just... wanted to let him know. Prepare him for all eventualities. Oh, it wasn't the first time either of them had come close to death, but... Nightmare had also asked Ink and Error to be present. To ask for support from the Creator and the Destroyer, it meant that the danger was far greater than they had seen so far.

Plum came to curl up against him, enjoying their tender cuddle.

“...I could come with you...

\- No, sweetheart... you stopped being a bad guy on purpose to live a quiet life. We don't have to drag you into this.

\- But I'm gonna miss you...

\- I'm gonna miss you too…”

They exchanged a feverish look as Plum hesitated, words burning in his throat. ' _ Promise me you'll come back to me, _ ' he said. But wasn't it a selfish request? Of course Horror wanted to come back, and if he couldn't... it wouldn't be of his own free will, of course. And Plum didn't want his soul mate to be filled with regret in case... he couldn't keep his so-called promise.

“... I love you, Horror.”

The cannibal twitches, his throat tied, before coming to gently kiss his boyfriend.

“I too, Plum... I love you like crazy…”

So many unspoken, silent promises...

**[I'll be back]**

**[I'll get back to you.]**

* * *

Killer looked at the remote control between his fingers for a long time, without having the reflex to turn on the television. But it was the right time: he always watched a stupid show when he was depressed, just to take his mind off things. But not today. Today... he had an empty mind, as if his thoughts didn't want to flow any more.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dust came to him, sitting next to him to watch the black screen.

A short silence during which Killer put the remote control on the table:

“... I don't know about that.

\- You thinking about the mission?

\- ...not really. It's going to be the same as always: dangerous. And as always, we're going to risk our lives. And as always, there's no guarantee we're coming back.”

Dust raised an archway:

“... You look even more depressed than before. I thought I was getting better...

\- ... I'm thinking Color.”

Dust tensed gently:

“Color? That bastard?”

Killer looked down, playing distractedly with the sleeve of his sweater as if to give himself some kind of a hold:

“... He hurt me, you know... But, um…”

He hardly swallowed his saliva, feverish:

“...I lied to you... he's not the one who broke it off…”

Dust blinked, surprised, before coming a little closer to his friend, coming to put a hand on his shoulder:

“Is that you? Why is that?

\- ... I panicked, okay? I-I just... I thought I was ready to leave you, to go live with him, to be like Plum! But, um…”

He clenched his fists, trembling:

“ ... I can't do this... you're my family, and... I don't want to leave. I don't feel ready, I…”

Dust sighed softly, came to caress his skull to comfort him when he felt himself on the verge of sobbing:

“I love Color... I love him with all my fucking madness... But... 

\- You'd rather leave him than burden yourself with a long-distance relationship. 

\- ... It's stupid, huh... ?

\- Totally. Why didn't you offer him a place to live in the castle?”

Killer straightened his head, outraged:

“What? But he would never have agreed!

\- Did you even ask him? 

\- Of course not!

\- So what do you know? Seriously, Kill', this guy's always been crazy about you! He even went so far as to fight Nightmare for you! Then living with us must be the least of his worries!”

Killer lowered his eyes again, in terrible shame. He cast a doubting glance at Dust:

“...do you think... I should go back to him?

\- Do you want to?”

The one with the round soul hesitated... before he nodded his head timidly.

Dust smiled and gave him a little pat on the shoulder:

“So yeah, go to him.”

Killer was smiling again, but there was no time to get up and a desperate Cross entered the room furiously, only to fall down on the couch beside them:

“What's the matter with you? wondered Dust in front of his dark face.

\- ... According to Error, we have to expect the ritual to fail. 

\- Great... We're not going to make any old bones.”

Killer chuckled and elbowed him:

“Please, it's to be expected. Of course we were going to bump into a bone!”

Cross the gunshots with his eyes:

“Because you think it's funny? Dream's in danger, Nightmare's on the edge... We don't have time for your stupid jokes! You don’t even hit my funny bone!!”

Nice try, which was rewarded by the smiles of Killer and Dust before they came to put their arms around the monochrome's shoulders.

"We're going to get through this, said the skeleton of dust. I mean, we've been through worse.

\- It's clear! approved the one with the black marks. And then we'll celebrate in front of 'Isn't it Romantic'!

\- Oh no, you're giving us a break with your shitty movie!”

They left in a frenzy of laughter, their souls still oppressed.

This may have been the last time they took advantage of it...

This feeling was supported by the arrival of Dream and Nightmare. The twins looked terrible, marked by tiredness and tears, but were doing violence to make themselves look good. The bad ones had the decency to make no remarks and hugged each other a little to allow the other two to join them on the couch.

“Are we watching a show?” Killer suggested.

A shrug of the shoulders from his comrades. He took this as a yes and retrieved the remote control, finally turning on the TV to look for some entertainment. If possible something funny, to make everyone smile again.

Nightmare, positioned between Cross and Dream, gently passed a tentacle around their waists to gently bring them back against him, surprising the other two who had no hesitation in curling up in this warm embrace.

Dust threw a light glance at them, before smiling fleetingly and turning his attention back to the screen, his soul nevertheless tight. He had done his best, the three of them didn't need him anymore ... 

He had obviously forgotten that twins are capable of feeling other people's emotions.

“Dust, you come next to me... ?” rose timidly the voice of the keeper of dreams.

Surprised, the skeleton of dust looked at him, only to find that Cross and Nightmare were also looking at him. Caught short and embarrassed, he grunted a slight "Yeah" and stood up, coming to take his place next to Dream, before a tentacle grabbed him in turn and brought him closer to the trio. 

Sticking to the guardian of good emotions, Dust swallows, his face getting slightly impregnated just like Dream's, before the latter chuckles:

“I like being against you.”

This ended Dust, whose face turned tomato-coloured, wrenching a snigger from the other bad guys.

Killer was touched when he saw his four friends like that. He hoped with all his heart that he could have such a fusional relationship with Color... Maybe soon. Very soon.

Finally, when Horror came home - at a rather late hour, it must be said - he discovered with amazement the rest of the gang slumped on the couch, sleeping against each other in front of the broadcast of an episode of Steven Universe.

It touched him as much as it hurt him: he prayed that this would not be the last time they would see them all like this ...

* * *

Ink checked one last time that he had not forgotten anything. His memory was playing tricks on him, and while normally he didn't have much trouble with it, this time was different.  Not that this was the most dangerous mission he had ever been on, far from it. But it was no less important, especially since Dream's life was at stake.

Dream... he hadn't spoken to him, hadn't even seen him since they fought. But Ink had never stopped thinking about him, about his friend, about that sweet little guardian who had never abandoned him, not even when the Creator had betrayed everyone, had stopped taking his vials just for fun, just to get on the 'wrong' side, so wrong side there was.

Right and wrong were abstract notions but, for Ink, Dream was definitely a 'good' person. Someone you could rely on, who trusted anyone without judging them, accepting even the worst of criminals at his side. 

Dream was his friend, it didn't matter what other people thought, see what Dream himself thought.

And Ink wasn't going to let that friend die. Not without trying.

“Inky, are you ready?” Error questioned him as he entered the room.

The painter took a final breath. It was the big moment and it would have been a lie to say Ink was confident.

The Creator turned to his companion, determined, his Carmine wards filled with determination.

“Yes.”

**[I'm ready]**


	11. [ Everyone screams as they fall, even when you jump on purpose ]

_We hated him, we always hated him, we'd never stop hating him. Hate him for his sins, his blindness, his inability to help anyone, his inability to help his brother._

_We hated him, we despised him, we hated him. The worst kind, the fallen guardian, the one we didn't want, we didn't want anymore._

_And yet he had tried, he had tried everything. Tried to help, to fix the situation, to save his brother from his powerful torment. To stop this war, to resolve this conflict, to find a complicity of yesteryear, a love that he missed so much._

_He was ready for anything, anything at all. You're always ready for anything out of love, but mostly out of desperation._

_He'd done anything._

_“I can understand you now!”_

_He was so proud when he said this, that he gave his twin that broad smile..._

_And that he had a bite of this apple._

_That apple that had finished corrupting him._

**_[Who had made him a shattered dream]_ **

* * *

  
  
Strange thing to be standing in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by the surrounding forest which was taking on a disturbing appearance as the sun was waning.

The hour was coming slowly, very slowly, to the great displeasure of Dream who felt his apprehension growing and oppressing him. He tried to reassure himself by smelling the smell of fresh grass, that smell that mixes nature after the passage of rain, which usually had the gift of pleasing the guardian of dreams. But not this time. But this time... was far too different.

Nightmare stood not far from him, watching for the right moment to begin the ritual. He seemed worried, which did not reassure Dream who came to seek comfort from the others. 

The Bads Sans, as well as Ink and Error, stood much further away, so as not to interfere with the ritual while being able to intervene if things went wrong. But it wasn't going to go wrong, was it? Dream tried in vain to convince himself of that, without any real success. 

However, when he saw Cross and Dust smiling at him and lifting their thumbs, he found himself smiling back. The message from his friends was clear: " _Everything is going to be all right._ "

He took a breath, bringing his gaze back to the sky. Everyone had worked so hard to help him... he thought he'd never get any support... 

**[ He had to succeed ]**   
**[He had to do it for his comrades, for them who had done so much for him.]**

**_[ But it was only fair. Dream had helped them so much in the past... it's a good thing they returned the favor! Otherwise, the bastards could run if they asked him for help again!]_ **

The guard froze. What did he just think?

He shook his head. 

**_The others helped him out of pity. Once he was healed, they would turn away from him again and ... ]_ **

Dream took his head in his hands, trying to repress the thoughts that assailed him. They weren't coming from him, he knew they weren't coming from him! He had never thought, would never think such a thing!

**[Except the others didn't like him. The others....]**

Dream slapped himself, squealed under his own violence, his cheek throwing him furiously. But it at least had the gift of holding on to reality, of ignoring the negativity that was trying to grab him.

"Dream? Are you gonna be okay? " asked his brother, puzzled to see him hit himself like that.

New inspiration, before the little dream looks at him with determination:

“Yeah. It's gonna be okay.”

The answer that brought a smile to Nightmare's face: seeing his twin regain his composure inflated his own determination.

“Well, good. Prepare yourself then, the ritual will begin soon.”

Further on, Cross covered them with a worried look. Like the rest of the group, he was unaware of the nature of this ritual, and feared what was to come. His greatest fear now was that one of the twins might get hurt, and he was preparing to intervene at any moment.

Nightmare and Dream, now immersed in their bubble, placed themselves in front of each other, silent. They knew exactly what they had to do, they had done it many times in the past. They took a breath at the same time, before each one curtseyed without taking their eyes off the other.

Nightmare delicately reached out his hand to his brother in a natural and refined gesture.

This gesture made Dream smile and he had this pleasant shiver, this impression of going back to childhood, of redoing the same ritual as before. He accepted the hand with joy, slipping his phalanges into the outstretched palm, smiling more at the gentle warmth that invaded his body and his cheekbones.

The master of misfortune gently pulled his brother against him, and after they had exchanged a knowing glance, they began a waltz under the amazement of their comrades. 

Comrades who couldn't believe their eyes, stunned. Neither of them expected such a spectacle, that the dreaded ritual was actually a princely dance between the two brothers, a dance that the twins mastered without the slightest problem, linking fluid movements, movements they knew by heart and that came naturally to them.

Dust found himself drawn in, hypnotized by their dance, the gold and black moving in perfect harmony, seemingly wanting to blend into one. The skeleton was so concentrated on this spectacle that he didn't notice the sky changing colour. The light and the darkness seemed to come alive through the crackling magic in the air, and finally it was as if the sun and the moon came to unite over the two brothers as they continued their dance, as if cut off from the outside world, enclosed in their bubble of intimacy.

The two twins, who continued their waltz without turning away from their objective, held their breath without paying attention to it, while they noticed a slight glow floating around them, that supernatural glow they had observed many times in the past.

Dream recognized the familiar sensation of a soft warmth, a tender warmth that enveloped and cajoled him, alleviating his apprehension, grabbing his negativity in small sips, pushing him to close his eyes and savor the well-being that took place inside him. This well being that almost made him purr as he let himself go more against his brother. ....

Before you get hit hard, smash into a tree.

His spine cracked on impact. Dream uttered a muffled scream, pain twisting him as he collapsed to the ground, troubled, a furious pain forcing him to curl up on himself while he felt his well-being being erased with a wave of his hand, as if it had never existed.

“DREAM!”

Nightmare's scream barely reached him, the pungent taste of blood filled his mouth, and he felt his consciousness sink into negativity once again.

**[The ritual failed, you can't even do it right!]**

He squealed, he didn't want to think that, HE DID NOT WANT TO THINK THAT!

He didn't have to think... He was too terrified to do it. Terrified by a voice, by this new individual who overhung him in a morbid sneer:

“It's late Dream. Did you know that broken dreams happen in the night?”

The young guard raised his head with difficulty, with tears in his eyes:

“....Shattered…”

The smile of his double widens to the understanding of his name. Before suddenly tensing up, and stepping aside to dodge the appendix that Nightmare projected towards him.

“Don't go near him!” scolded the master of misfortune whose ice-blue pupil glowed with fury.

The order made Shattered laugh, whose tentacles were shaking:

“Or else what? You gonna kill me? You'd still have to be able to do it.”

Nightmare scolded, prepared to attack him, but petrified when Shattered suddenly grabbed Dream by the collar before putting it right in front of him, like a shield.

“You wouldn't dare hurt your brother, would you?" questioned the broken dream. Oh, but how stupid of me! Of course you are! **You've got the time to do it!”**

The nightmares turned pale and cold sweaty, as Dream tried in vain to struggle despite his confusion. Shattered would have laughed about it once more, but he was interrupted by wires thrown in his direction, which he dodged with a skillful teleportation, to reappear a few meters further and face Error who shot him with his eyes.

The corrupted dream uttered a sneer, watching the skeletons that came to stand beside the Destroyer to fight him:

“The Destroyer and the Creator, and the bad guys without... Shattered enumerated. You've surrounded yourself well, Dream. Surrounded by all those who will eventually stab you in the back!”

Dream swallows, his throat dry, his body becoming more and more painful with each passing second:

“The-the ellipse…” he articulated with difficulty.

Making his executioner giggle again... until Ink beamed behind his back, and the violent brushstroke he received in the ribs.

Shattered uttered an exclamation of suffering, turned round sharply to kick the Creator, who dodged it without harm. But the shattered dream did not miss the reddish pupils of the Artist, and as he dodged a second blow, his smile became even worse than before:

“I can't believe you're capable of real emotion.”

A spike that made Ink shudder, unsettling him for a moment. A moment that was enough for Shattered to hit him head on with a tentacle, propelling him several meters backwards without the slightest difficulty. 

Error was petrified when he heard the howling of his companion, and without the slightest hesitation he once again drew his sons towards Shattered. Shattered used his appendages to protect himself, wince at the sight of them being disintegrated by the Destroyer. And to make matters worse for him, Horror and Killer threw themselves at him in turn, drawing axe and knife to slice their enemy.

Shattered owed his survival only to Dream, which he always held firmly against him. Thus, his opponents found themselves hesitant, refusing to hurt their friend in order to touch their enemy. Especially since Dream was getting weaker and weaker: a single blow could finish him off.

Nightmare and Dust stayed back, waiting for the right time to intervene. They couldn't afford to throw themselves into the fray now, at the risk of touching their comrades. And damn it, even though Shattered was in trouble, he didn't let it show any flaws! 

Meanwhile, Cross had teleported to Ink to support him. Luckily, the Creator was only a little stunned and had no trouble getting up. But if he went back into battle, the swordsman preferred to stay behind. Out of fear? Yes. Out of fear that Dream's soul - which he always had in his possession - might be hurt. And it was that same fear, that same apprehension, that caused him to suddenly open a portal to another UA.

* * *

**[BROCKDOWN]**

Shattered gnashed his teeth, cornered on all sides, and holding Dream only made his movements more difficult.

**[ SHIT ]**

He felt his soul pulsating with panic, anguish and terror flowing into his body and accompanying the cold sweat that ran through him. 

The usual. He was all alone. Him against everyone, against the whole world. 

He used to.

Yes ... He used to... ahah. Ahahah. ....Ahahah. ....

**[HE KNEW VERY WELL HOW TO GET OUT OF IT]**

He stood still.

Horror and Killer, in the heat of the moment, took this as a mistake, a moment of weakness for their opponent. Dust thought the same thing, believing he had finally found a loophole, and accompanied his friends who threw themselves at him with the same fury as before ... before fainting at the crazy smile of the broken dream.

The next moment, they didn't know how their wrists were imprisoned in anti-magic bracelets. All they captured was a vivid teleportation sound, the icy bite of metal, and the sudden disappearance of Shattered ... who simply reappeared behind Horror and Killer, pushing them into a portal out of nowhere. A portal leading straight to a precipice.

Time stood still for a second. They each felt as if they were floating above the void for a long, long, long time ... but it was only an illusion, a hope came, before gravity took over, tipped them backwards, fell straight to certain death. Faraway screams, those of their friends, resounded loudly, came crashing into their souls without the slightest sweetness. Only then did the information reach their consciences, and terror gripped them brutally.

They were falling into the void. They were going to crash down.

Killer was the first to scream, soon followed by his friend. But their voices ceased at the same time, replaced by a hiccup of stupor as their fall came to an abrupt halt, their arms being held tightly, wrenching a sharp pain out of them that was far less than their fear.

Dust had thrown himself towards them without thinking, had desperately grabbed an arm from each of them, before bending and ending up on the ground, his body on either side of the gate, his two friends hanging in the void.

“Shit... !” weighed down the skeleton of dust, which was already beginning to tremble under the weight of his comrades. 

He wasn't strong enough to wind them up, barely strong enough to hold them up, and the damn bracelets kept the three of them from teleporting.

Nightmare became livid, took a step towards his henchmen to help them, but Shattered's wild laughter made his head spin, and he had no time to dodge the tentacle that threw him into Error. The two black-boned skeletons screamed, and were thrown from the battlefield with unheard-of violence, and their race was stopped only by a huge oak tree, against which they collided, their breathing being cut off instantly.

Shattered teleported himself to them, laughing again, before grabbing Dream's chin and turning his skull towards the two wounded men:

"So, Dream, what do you think? Isn't it thrilling to see them like this at our feet? »

The guardian of dreams, his eyes bathed in tears, shook his head, drawing on his strength to try again to struggle:

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! How did you... How can you do this? How can you enjoy it? Y-You hurt my friends... you're gonna kill them, take them away from me…”

The words, though spoken softly, with sadness, were like a masterful slap in the face to Shattered, who blamed the shock, teeth clenched, despite his shaky body.

“Are your friends saying... ? Have you forgotten... ? Have you forgotten what they... what they…”

Dream whimpered in pain as Shattered's grip tightened around him. And the shattered dream, which seemed to lose more reason, released a sudden wave of energy, a crackling energy of rage and resentment:

“WHAT THEY DID TO ME! IT'S THEIR FAULT, IT'S ALL THEIR FAULT ! I ALWAYS DID EVERYTHING FOR THEM, I TURNED INTO A MONSTER FOR MY BROTHER ! AND HOW DID THEY THANK ME ? THEY ABANDONED ME, THEY ALL ABANDONED ME !!! “

Dream widened his eyes, not only because of the words of his double ... but because a sob had escaped Shattered. Shattered, who no longer seemed as proud and evil as he made him seem. Shattered who seemed just... sickly jealous. Jealous that another Dream had found people he could rely on. 

“Shat…”

His voice died in his throat. He froze at the same time as Shattered, to turn his head towards Error ... who had taken advantage of their inattention to charge a Gaster Blaster.

Nightmare turned pale, the words of Glitch coming to mind.

**\- As soon as I considered him a danger, I'd shoot him. –**

Error shot.

It was not one of his scenes where death came in slow motion. On the contrary: everything happened so fast that Dream had no time to grasp the situation. A strident noise, a stifling heat, a dazzling flash followed by a detonation, an earthquake, an explosion that knocked him down with Shattered. A cloud of dust.

But not death.

Not THEIR dead.

Dream didn't understand what he was doing ashore. He didn't understand why he was still alive... until the dust cloud fell. That he stopped breathing, horrified by the vision that presented itself to him.

Error lacked glitches, his pupils disappearing, accompanying the terror that had also assailed him ... when he realized that Ink, his sweet Ink, had come between the Blaster and the two Dreams.

* * *

“SHIT!”

Dust weighed down for the umpteenth time as sweat began to bead on his forehead as his phalanges began to shake more and more. He tried again to pull his friends, to lead them up, but his body hardly moved, refused to react properly.

This deep sense of helplessness made him want to cry. He was literally holding Killer and Horror's life at arm's length, and no one was coming to help them. This last information made him even more anxious: if their friends didn't come to give them a hand, it was because Shattered was even tougher than expected! 

Dust thought of Dream, the poor little keeper who was being bullied from all sides. Couldn't he finally have peace, he who had been living in hell for so many years? Dust had hoped that everything would work out, that the little dream would be reconciled with Cross and Nightmare, that he might join the bad guys without and that they would all live quietly in the castle! 

But by now, Dust should have got used to the fact that his hopes were only utopias.

In spite of himself, he felt the tears coming up in his eyes.

“...shit... !”

He squeezed even harder his friends' hands, which he felt slowly slipping away.

“... Dust, you can't pull us up…”

He jumped. Horror was speaking for the first time since their fall. And Killer, who was just as excited, agreed:

“We'll take you with us if you don't let go…”

Dust widened his eyes, his soul coming to strike with force at the rib cage:

“Are you nuts?! I won't let go!”

Horror and Killer didn't want him to let go, of course, but the reality was there: if it dragged on, the three of them would go under. And Dust was also aware of this.

“M-Maybe the others will be here soon…” stammered Killer with little certainty, however.

Dust wanted to believe it, he wanted to believe it so badly... But Horror's sigh shattered his hopes.

“No... replied the cannibal. On the contrary ... they surely need help as much as we do …”

He looked down:

“... Dust... ...you can't bring both of us up... but you can bring one of us up.”

The man concerned had a high heart, realizing what he was getting at:

“...you're asking me to let you go to save Killer... ? 

\- NO! cried the madman to the cannibal. Out of the question!”

Horror expected such a response. Of course his friends would refuse, but was there any other choice? He felt himself on the verge of tears. 

No, there was no other choice. There wasn't, no matter how much he wanted it. No matter how much he wanted to go back to the castle with his friends, keep cooking for them, bicker with Dust and watch movies with Killer. No matter how much he loved his new family. No matter how much he loved his new home, the castle, the chess games with Nightmare, the laughter, the bickering, the bickering, their everyday life in general. It didn't matter how much he wanted to see Plum again, how much he loved him like crazy, how much he wished he could have continued to hug him, to embrace him, to be one with him. It didn't matter what kind of future he had imagined for himself, a future where he saw himself happy with everyone.

It didn't matter, because it all ended today.

“... Dust, coward m-

\- SHUT UP!”

Horror startled. It wasn't Dust who screamed... it was Killer. A Killer with watery eyes, who could hardly hold back his sobs:

“I'm the one who needs to be let go!”

The cannibal cried: 

“Don't bullshit! 

\- What do you mean, "bullshit"?! You're the one who's talking crap!! What are we going to tell Plum when we see him? 'Oh, sorry, the man you wish to marry is dead as a doornail!”

Horror looked at him without believing it:

“W-What? He wants to marry me?

\- Of course he wants to marry you !!! He's been planning his fucking proposal for weeks! And he turned it down again because we were taking care of Dream!”

Dust had a knot in his throat:

“... It's true, I do... He decided to propose to you... the day we went to Underlust with Dream. 

\- ....B-but... what... ?

\- When he saw the state of Dream, he didn't dare to do it... He wanted to wait a little longer…”

The Cannibal felt a huge weight shatter his shoulders as his spirit returned to Plum. Plum who had always been so patient with him, so passionate, so tender... 

He was the first to crack, to let bitter tears run down his undone face:

“I-I don't want... I don't want to leave him ... But I don't want to give up on you either... ! 

\- What about me?! exclaimed Dust on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Do you think I want to let you go? You're asking me to choose between you, you're asking me to abandon one of my two best friends?!”

Killer closed his eyes in shame, shaken with shame:

“S-sorry, but we don't have a choice... it's... it's either one of us or all three of us... ! It's my turn to fall!

\- Probably p-

\- Think! I-I've wanted to leave the bad guys countless times... ! I-I'm stupid, scared, I can't even commit to Color... ! You're better than me! S-So…”

Dust pesta:

“If I had the chance, I'd hit you! Shut the fuck up!”

Could they understand that no matter what their arguments, Dust was not going to let them go?

But their hands became clammy, their strength diminished, and the sword of Damocles hovering above them seemed eager to fall on their skulls.

And he fell down, dry and mercilessly.

Dust dropped them both.

* * *

He had done what he could, with his silences and the rest, with his fears, his anxieties, his childlike cries, his sobs that he had so many times repressed. He had done what he could, always, as much for his world as for others. He had destroyed Alternative Universes for the sake of the original. He had stopped this insane destruction for Ink's sake. He had maintained balance with the one he cherished only to make him happy, to show him that he was able to change, to change for him, for their bond, for their love. He had done what he could, and he had done it from the very beginning, in this great bath of cruelty that was their multiverse. In the outbursts of disappointment and lies. In violence. In the violence of the time that trampled on his dreams.

He had done everything for Ink.

And Ink was now collapsing in front of him, hit hard by his attack.

Error remained static. Livid, with an empty gaze, emptied of all emotions, of all common sense. Until he became aware of the situation, realized what had just happened. Bugs made him crackle, terror almost made him vomit, and as the world around him disappeared in his eyes, he uttered a scream so terrible that Nightmare himself trembled.

Dream remained mute, barely hearing the distress of the Destroyer, too focused on Ink's unconscious body. This body that was cracking, crumbling, slowly turning to dust. 

The body of his best friend.

He just perceived Error throwing himself on Ink, taking him in his arms, hugging him, screaming, crying his throat out. But the sight of the guardian of dreams became blurred, the treacherous tears obstructing his view.

“...why... ?”

Dream was startled, and turned to Shattered who had spoken. Shattered, whose wide-eyed eyes testified to all his incomprehension.

“You had a fight... you made it clear you weren't friends... so why would he... he... ?”

Nightmare also perceived Shattered's second state, and though Error's screams and negativity hurt him deeply, he did not forget his objective and straightened himself up sharply, to teleport himself to the broken dream he hit hard.

Surprised, Shattered barely came to his senses, gnashed his teeth and felt the rage flooding back into his entire being. He pulled out his appendages, Nightmare imitated him, and a tentacle fight began while Dream was still on the ground nearby.

This was the moment Cross chose to intervene, suddenly teleporting himself into the battle to seize Dream and win several meters back.

“I-Ink... ! I've got to... I have to go to him!” sobbed the guard as he clutched the swordsman.

Cross swallowed, turned his head towards the Creator whom Error was desperately trying to keep alive, using his magic to wrap him in a cocoon of care and gentleness.

“Error takes care of it Dream... you have to stay in...

\- NO! No, I have to do something, I have to... !”

He was interrupted by yet another explosion, and Nightmare was forced to retreat as Shattered attacked him with even more power. The broken dream gave itself body and soul in this fight, thinking only of destroying all those who were in its path.

Cross frowned on the arcades. He would have liked to help his superior, but Dream's protection came first... didn't it?

That's what he thought. But if Shattered's rage multiplied its power, Nightmare was starting to wear him down.

All it takes is a simple, tiny moment of inattention. 

Cross straightened up suddenly, horrified: 

“NIGHTMARE!”

It's too late for that. The Nightmare Keeper hiccupped, stunned by the cold metal that closed around his throat.

In just a second, he felt all his strength disappear, his magic slip through his fingers as his appendages collapsed to the ground.

Anti-magic collar. Shattered only had to give a simple blow to smash Nightmare's face against the ground, before kicking him in the belly for his greatest pleasure, then using his tentacles to hold him down.

Dream and Cross freeze.

“RELEASE HIM!” cried Dream, using his last strength to get up. But he felt so weak, and the corruption did nothing to help him get better ... he fell to his knees again, suffering, looking helplessly at his wounded twin.

Cross put one hand on the scabbard of his sword, ready to intervene, but the threat to Nightmare prevented him from making the slightest move.

Shattered had a broad smile:

“You're outnumbered. I single-handedly defeated your pathetic team. So do you really think you two have a chance?”

The monochrome tensed up more. Shattered sneered: 

“Come on, enough playing... Cross, I'll make you a deal!”

The swordsman frowned on the arches, suspicious, shooting his opponent with his eyes. But he became even paler when a tentacle came to stand near Nightmare's soul.

“Cross, Cross Cross Cross... You could kill me, it's true. But the slightest suspicious move... I'll finish off little Nighty!”

The threat paid off, Cross took a step backwards.

“It's Crossy, all right! Now throw that ugly sword away, will you?”

The person concerned gritted his teeth, hesitant, shifting his gaze from Shattered to Nightmare. Nightmare trying to shake his head, whispering a "No". Except that Cross really couldn't take the risk...

He threw his sword further.

Shattered went on with this adorable voice, overflowing with false pretences:

“Now, imitate Dream and kneel down.”

Cross executed himself against his will, mad with rage, while Dream looked down shamefully, overwhelmed by the guilt of not being able to help.

“Now... Give me Dream's soul.”

Time stood still. Cross opened his frightened eyes like the twins.

Shattered's unhealthy laughter echoed in this desolate atmosphere:

“I know you have it in your possession. That poor, fragile little soul... Which is pretty stupid, by the way, don't you think, Nightmare? You wanted to do the ritual to heal Dream... but how did you expect it to work without his soul?”

The two brothers hiccuped, struck by reality. They hadn't thought about it at all. So even without Shattered's intervention, their plan was doomed to failure... ? And the ellipse that was taking place ....The passing of time, preventing them from doing anything... 

“Come on, Cross. Dream is fucked now, but Nightmare is not. Wouldn't it be stupid to sacrifice him for a pathetic dream keeper? You've always preferred Nightmare anyway, we all know that!”

Harsh and hurtful words, which snatched a sob from poor Dream who was reaching his limits.

Cross remained mute, empty-eyed. It was crazy how ironic life could be. He was only trying to help, to make those around him happy, but ended up messing things up, making things worse. He couldn't understand why... Dream had forgiven him. He was the most miserable being on the multiverse, the one who least deserved to be happy. He'd given up on Dream without realizing it, but then he'd hurt his willingly. He had hurt him only to make Nightmare happy. 

And now they were there?

Cross had a poor laugh accompanied by a bitter smile, a downcast look. He raised his head feverishly, without daring to look at Nightmare or Dream.

He made the little soul seem thrilling.

**\- Dream became livid -**

He held it out gently in front of him.

**\- Nightmare froze -**

Shattered had a broad smile. His tentacles sped faster than the wind, violently grasping the soul they brought back to him. He sneered:

“Ahah, Cross, I knew it! I knew you were just a stupid dog! But a deal is a deal!”

He propelled Nightmare in his direction. Cross, in his last strength, managed to catch his master awkwardly, almost collapsing.

Except Nightmare pushed him away even though he was falling to the ground. He glanced at him with a hateful, icy look as his tear-fogged eyes mingled with his hoarse, raging voice: 

“You bastard... HOW COULD YOU?!”

If he had not felt so weak, he would have killed Cross on the spot, stabbed him in the appendixes, subjected him to a thousand tortures! But instead he looked away, dragged himself to Dream, which he came to seize with force, blaming the sobs that his frail twin was letting out. 

Shattered exploded with laughter, spinning completely, reveling in the crying and screaming, the very despair of all the people around him, the ellipse that was taking place and would not happen again for a long time, the last chance to save Dream that was slipping through their fingers.

Despair itself. 

_The despair of Dust, who watches the precipitate without being able to believe it._

_Nightmare's desperation that couldn't help his brother._

_Error's despair as he watches his lover die in his arms._

**[ Everyone screams as they fall -- even when you jump on purpose ]**


	12. [EPILOGUE]

They never agreed, bickering all the time over nothing. Often because of Killer, who was always trying to test him, to see if Color really loved him or was going to abandon him. And Color, although he was tender and understanding at first, had had enough, couldn't stand it when people questioned his love for him.

Bickering had become bickering, real bickering. Killer tested his limits more and more, could sometimes make terribly hurtful remarks and, touched in his pride, Color retaliated harshly, hurting back the one he loved.

Wasn't that a laughable situation? But it was undoubtedly what proved the honesty of their love. For despite their many conflicts, they were still crazy about each other...

So when Killer finally left him, Color saw his world come crashing down. He didn't try to hold him back, he didn't want to force him into anything, he simply believed that their love had no place in the end.

However, no matter what he did to forget him, Killer never left his mind, never, and Color had to assume a terrible truth: loving him was his destiny. If it hurt so much to part with him, it was probably because their souls were connected, as they always had been and always would be.

**[ CHUCKLES ]**

He didn't think he could love someone that much, or even that you could love them that much. Plum had become so used to being hated, rejected, accepted only for his body and nothing else, treated like a little whore, an object that you take, use and throw away, that you don't even bother to wash and care for. An object that is useful, but that one hates. An object that we soon replace when we find it more useful.

He hated himself and he hated the world in which he was born. He hated the monsters who took advantage of his body and hated life, fate, which seemed to mock him every minute of his life. He had so many times wanted to die, to disappear, to give himself up to the easy way out and forget his worries. But he had responsibilities, he had his brother, he had ...

He had this unbearable fear of dying. And this crazy hope to live, to REALLY live.

When Nightmare blackmailed him, forced him to join the bad guys, he saw this as a new cruelty of life, the fulfillment of his hopes and dreams. But if the first times had been difficult, he had been surprised - what am I saying? - the amazement of finding skeletons similar to him. Not because they were Sans, but because they all had a very special relationship with destiny.

Fate had bent on them, destroyed them.

And finally, their small group of psychopathic killers had taken a different turn. A softer, more complicit, compassionate turn.

They had become a family. And if Plum had been able to fit into that family so well, it was definitely thanks to Horror. Horror who had intrigued him at first sight, who had surprised him with his delicious and ever more elaborate dishes. Horror who could prove to be terribly wise and patient. And Plum, at each of his laughs, had fallen a little more in love with him without realizing it.

When they had sex the first time, the purple skeleton thought he would burst into tears, terrified that the cannibal had used him and would abandon him. But Horror had never left. On the contrary: he had pampered him, pampered him, won him over with his words and his caresses.

He had always been there, with his big smile and little mockery, but also his ridiculous nicknames and his desire to kiss him, to always be one with him.

**[DOES NOT ABANDON ME]**

_Cross had teleported to Ink to support him. Unfortunately, the Creator was only a little stunned and had no trouble getting up again. But if he went back into battle, the swordsman preferred to stay behind. By fear? Yes. Out of fear that Dream's soul - which he still had in his possession - would be hurt. And it is this same fear, this apprehension, that suddenly pushed him to open a portal to go to another UA._

Plum was biting his nails in anguish, alone on his couch, impatiently awaiting the return of his lover and hoping that nothing would happen to him.

Color was in his own universe, slumped in a field of echoing flowers, watching the sky and thinking about Killer, what he would have to do to get him back.

Neither of them had expected such a situation.

Neither of them would have thought they would see a gate suddenly open, followed by a skeletal hand that came and grabbed them forcefully to pull them into another AU. And what was their surprise when they landed in the middle of the forest, confused and stunned, to find themselves in front of a livid Cross.

“What is ... ?” said Color while standing up.

But the swordsman left them no time at all:

“There's a portal to the West, we have to help Dust! I don't have time !”

He teleported again, disappearing in the eyes of the two skeletons who definitely didn't understand the situation, until Plum realized that - Shit - the ritual had gone wrong!

He got up in panic and rushed to the gate, dragging Color after him as a ball formed in the hollow of his throat.

_\- Their hands became clammy, their strength diminished, and the sword of Damocles hovering above them seemed eager to strike at their skulls. –_

Horror was in danger. HIS Horror was in danger.

 _\- And he fell down, dry and mercilessly._ –

_\- Dust dropped them both. -_

They came to the gate, saw a body over halfway through. Dust's body was shaking on all sides, as if caught in a convulsion and jolt.

Terror took hold of both skeletons.

**[ EMPTY ]**

Killer fell. He saw the world turn, he saw Dust's gaze, he saw himself moving away, sinking, falling. But he felt nothing. He heard nothing. Nothing, except the high-pitched whistling of the wind in his ear canals.

A second state. A semi-consciousness. Silence.

He should never have left Color. He should have stayed by his side, believed in him, in them, in their bond. He should have been honest, explain his apprehension, his fear of abandonment and change. He should have told him that he loved him, he should have told him so many times.

He loved Color. Hadn't he told Dust? Yes, he did.

He loved Color with all his fucking, fucking madness.

And he closed his eyes bathed in tears, his soul heavy with regret, silent sobs.

The shock was imminent.

**[ CRACK ]**

It was a heavy noise. The sound of a body hitting the ground. The sound of someone hitting the ground hard.

A noise ... which had been preceded by a teleportation.

The sound of Killer and Color as they teleported behind Dust.

The skeleton of dust turned sharply, eyes wide open, throat dry, and face ravaged by terror and sadness, only to stumble upon a sight he had not expected. No ... No, he was not expecting to see Color and Plum. To tell the truth ... NO ONE expected to see those two teleporting, receiving their companions to teleport back to safety.

Horror was stunned, just like Killer who didn't understand the situation, who didn't know if they were still alive or not.

“ABRUPTED!”

The cannibal blamed the masterful slap he took, this time having this time beautiful and well the proof that he was alive ... and his wide-eyed eyes turned to Plum, his adorable Plum who was crying with anguish and relief mixed together:

“I told you I had to come with you, you moron ! Asshole ! You fucking ... !”

He emptied his bag, the terror that he had accumulated in a fraction of a second, but Horror didn't let him say any more - to tell the truth he had barely listened to his cries - and grabbed his face with force, to come and kiss him, devouring his mouth and sobbing in turn. He never thought he would be so happy to be alive.

Plum did not struggle, quite the contrary. Too happy to be reunited with his beloved, he clung to him with all his strength, responding to his kiss with all the passion and love he had inside him, as if he was afraid that Horror would disappear and kill himself for good this time.

Next to them, Color was trembling. He held Killer without daring to overdo it, without daring to make inappropriate gestures in spite of the anguish he had felt when he saw him fall into the void. If he hadn't intervened, if he hadn't been there, if Cross hadn't come looking for him ... Killer ... Killer would definitely have killed himself.

“Color, I …” began the madman, before stopping at the sight of the tears that were beading in the eyes of the colored one.

Color let a poor sob escape, brought Killer a little closer to come and bury his face in his neck:

“Damn, shit, Killer ... goddamn Killer ... I love you ... I love you ... I love you so much ... I'm sorry, I love you ... I love you ... I love you I love you, I love you ... !” he murmured nervously, his soul trembling, struggling not to burst into tears despite the emotion.

Killer remained mute, blushing violently despite the situation. Moved, he came to respond feverishly to the embrace, not quite recovered from his near-death experience.

“No... C-Color, it's me, it's all my fault ... Sorry ... I love you so, so much …”

The colored one raised his eyes, plunged his gaze into his own, before coming to fetch his mouth in a clumsy but terribly tender kiss, to which Killer took pleasure in responding.

But a sob interrupted the two couples. Killer and Horror froze, simultaneously turning their heads towards Dust. Dust was cracking, really cracking.

“I let go... I'm sorry, I let go…”

He took his skull in his hands and finally began to cry with fear and guilt as the pressure dropped heavily. His two best friends almost cried again, but held on to rush to him and take him in their arms.

They were alive, that was the most important thing.

They were alive. All three of them alive.

* * *

_Cross had a poor laugh accompanied by a bitter smile, a downcast look. He raised his head feverishly, without daring to look at Nightmare or Dream._

_He made the little soul appear to be throbbing, and gently held it out in front of him._

_Shattered had a broad smile. His tentacles sped faster than the wind, violently grasping the soul they brought back to him._

And Dream couldn't believe it. Didn't want to believe it. Because even though it had saved his brother's life, even though he was happy that Nightmare had survived, he was forced to see the cruel truth, the truth that he had wanted to bury forever.

He was inferior to Nightmare in all areas. It didn't matter the fine words of their friends, of Cross ... Nightmare was the favorite. The most beloved. Nightmare ... was more important than him.

Dream would have wanted to smile, to be strong, to tell his twin that it didn't matter that it was better this way. But he couldn't even do that. Unable to contain his tears, his sobs, his terror and his apprehension.

He could only be Dream, the frail guardian of good emotions. Dream, the one who clung to his brother, looking for comfort. Dream, who had been unable to protect his best friend or to honor this stupid ritual.

**[He was just a weak, stupid moron]**

“Owwwwwn, you two are so adorable!” Shattered ecstatic with the crazy smile he never left, playing mischievously with the soul he held between his fingers.

The ellipse was coming to an end, everything was going to end like this. And Shattered shuddered with joy as he watched the inverted heart he held in his palm:

“Dream, Dream, Dream ... you are so pathetic, so weak in the face of corruption! Your soul is only a reflection of your personality: bland and tasteless. So fragile that it has lost its colors, its flamboyant gold, to give way to this grey, so dirty, so sad. Ah ... HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHH! “

Dream clung a little more to his brother by closing his eyes. And if Nightmare tightens its grip around him, Cross's weak voice rose:

“Nightmare ... is it really too late?”

The acerbic tone of the nightmare master answered him:

“By your fault, yes! If you had returned his soul to Dream, he would have been saved! We had completed the ritual, the ground was prepared, the surrounding magic could heal him! But now the other bastard has his soul! There is no more possibility to do anything!”

The words were hard, so hard ... But did not destabilize Cross, far from it. Cross slowly got up and walked towards the twins.

“DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!” Nightmare screamed Nightmare, mad with rage, ready to strike the swordsman despite his weakness.

Except that Dream held him back, raising his tear-filled face in his direction :

“Night, no... i-he did this for you, to save you…”

But Nightmare, with tears in his eyes, could only shake his head:

“I don't care! He has condemned you!

\- Night... please…”

The master of misfortune clenched his teeth, his throat tied, and had to use violence to let Cross kneel beside them. Cross who looked sadly at his boss, hoping to meet his gaze, but had to give up and finally look at the guardian of dreams:

“... Dream ... I'm sorry for everything ... I never meant you any harm ... I only wanted ... to be like you, to follow your example. Bring happiness to others …”

Dream lowered his eyes sniffing, unable to respond.

But Cross's words made him shudder:

“... Take care of Nightmare for me …”

He looked up at the swordsman, imitated by Nightmare, neither twin understanding his words ... until Cross made a soul appear. A beautiful golden soul.

The world froze, Shattered petrified.

“Wh-?”

He looked at the soul that he himself held in the palm of his hand.

A grey soul. A golden soul.

It ...

**[Cross had not given him the right soul]**

“CROSS!”

He threw himself towards the trio, appendages drawn, the atmosphere twisting under the anger he released.

But it was too late: Cross struck Dream's torso, inserted his soul in a guilty smile.

The magic imploded, a ray of lightning struck the sky and fell to earth to strike Dream head on. Nightmare, Cross and Shattered found themselves thrown backwards, too weak in the face of the power released. A magic that flooded the entire UA with powerful waves of heat and sweetness.

Nightmare was forced to close his eyes, trying to shield himself from the light with his arms. This is why he did not see Cross come between him and the rays, so that the master of misfortune would not be disintegrated by the powerful light.

This same light came to engulf Error, whose face was buried in the neck of his lover, hugging him with all his strength despite the body which was leaving in dust ... before the dust regroups again, that it reformed the missing parts of the wounded body.

**The multiverse ellipse. A moment when opposites become one, when negativity and positivity blend in perfect equilibrium, to restart the cycle of the worlds from scratch].**

**[Nightmares and Dreams]**

**[Destruction and Creation]**

**[A reset.]**

**[Among other things ...]**

**[A RESET]**

The light stopped. Calm returned as the ellipse finally ceased and the sky took on a magnificent bluish hue.

Shattered stood up, sounded, trembling. He scanned the landscape with his eyes to fall on Dream ... who was standing, eyes closed, as if in a trance.

Dream blinked, revealing his pretty yellow pupils that had regained a soft glow. Dream ... which seemed free of a weight, which seemed light, peaceful, happy.

**The ritual had worked.**

“No …”

**[Shattered had lost]**

“NO”

**[And all because of ... of ...]**

He threw Cross's soul to the ground, kicking it violently, making his owner scream, who collapsed in pain, before being received in-extremist by Nightmare. Nightmare, who felt guilty for having doubted the swordsman, who felt a deaf anger invade him while he was still devoid of magic, and thus unable to recover the soul of the monochrome.

“CROSS ASSHOLE!” Shattered shouted Shattered, who disengaged his appendages before attacking the trembling soul, ready to finish him off.

But an arrow pulverized his tentacles, caused him to scream in pain and retreat. He raised his head, to become completely livid.

Dream was in a fighting position, bow in hand, holding a shattered yoke without mercy. And if the broken Dream wondered how his double had been able to retrieve a bow, he was even more pale when he saw Ink and Error at his side, understanding with terror that the Creator - in addition to being fine - had regained full control of his powers to the point of being able to create a bow for Dream.

“You lost Shattered.” scolded the guard, arched arches.

To affirm his claims, Error disengaged his sons and recovered Cross's soul, taking him away from Shattered, who found himself truly destitute, disarmed and without the slightest possibility of blackmail.

**[He had always been alone]**

“It's not fair …”

**[ Alone against the world ]**

“It's not fair ... !”

**In spite of his good attentions, his sacrifices] [In spite of his good attentions, his sacrifices ]**

“Why ... ?”

**[ Shattered tears ]**

“WHY DOES EVERYONE SUPPORT YOU? WHY DO THEY CONTINUE TO LOVE YOU?! WHY AM I THE VILLAIN OF THE STORY?!”

Dream hoqueta, destabilized. Destabilized in front of his double who fell to his knees crying, who hid his face in his hands trembling all over, shouting insults to the whole world.

**[HE WANTED TO HELP EVERYONE]**

**[HE WANTED TO HELP HIS BROTHER]**

**[HE HAD ALLOWED HIMSELF TO BE CORRUPTED FOR HIS BROTHER'S SAKE]**

**[AND HIS BROTHER HAD TURNED HIS BACK ON HIM]**

**[EVERYONE HAD ABANDONED HIM, HE, THE DREAM SHATTERS]**

Dream slowly lowered his bow:

“... Ink ... Error ... can you remove my brother's necklace”

If the Destroyer grunted, disliking receiving an order, the Creator nodded his head and executed it immediately.

Dream gently approached Shattered :

“... I can't answer you. We are the same. We should have had the same destiny, I suppose ... ...but…”

He crouches at his height:

“... You are not alone ... You don't have to be ... I know how you might have felt. I know exactly how you feel. And I won't let anyone else continue to feel that way…”

Shattered looked at him in amazement. Without the slightest hesitation, Dream came gently to wipe away his tears with a poor smile:

“We don't have to fight anymore. We've never had to. Let's stop all this, to build a better future for ourselves. When do you say?”

The broken dreamer looked away, feverish:

“... Why is it so ... Why would you do this ... after everything I've done…”

Dream laugh, before offering him a resplendent smile:

“Because everyone deserves to be happy, no matter what they've done in their lives. And I do need someone to support me in my role as a janitor. What do you think about that?”

Shattered exploded with a frank laughter, eyes wet :

“You are ... Ahah... You're really too dumb... Proposing such a thing to someone who wanted to destroy you, who failed to kill your friends... You're just…”

He looked shyly at Dream :

“... you are much too nice. A true guardian of positive emotions.”

A compliment that made the guard blush, and he reached out his hand to his double. Hand that Shattered took with pleasure, exhausted by all these emotions.

* * *

  
Dream flickered gently with eyes, gently waking up, drawn from the world of dreams with regret, to slowly become aware that he was in his room, regaining contact with reality.  
He yawned, stretched out like a cat, almost purring as the sun's rays filtered through the curtains to caress his face. His dream was so good.... he would have liked to enjoy it a little longer. Just a little bit more. But now that he was awake, he knew he could not go back to sleep.

  
He began to move to stand up, envious to go to the kitchen... but an arm came tenderly to bring him back against the sheets, then came to squeeze him against a torso.

The guard laughed softly:

“Dust, I'm not a teddy bear!”

The skeleton of dust groaned, squeezed Dream more tightly, whose face ended up in the neck of the elder, making the little dream blush, which was definitely not used to this new daily routine, even though it had already been a few days.

“Duuuust! he cried, swelling his cheeks.  
\- Shut up...!” grumbled a voice in the back of the guard.

Before Dream could apologize, tentacles also came to embrace him, and he felt Nightmare sticking to his back in a weary but possessive gesture. This made him pouffer: his twin was terrible when he woke up!

“Sorry Nighty, I didn't mean to wake you up ...

\- It's not you... answered his brother. The other moron woke me up long before.”

Another moron who was none other than Cross, whom Nightmare had pushed out of bed without the slightest scruples when he realized that the swordsman was moving too much in his sleep. Shit what, he may have been the guardian of nightmares, he too needed to sleep properly!

And while Dream laughed, sympathetic to the monochrome which was surely going to have some nice aches and pains, the door opened on the fly to let appear Plum and Killer, a little too awake in this early morning :

“Hey marmots! exclaimed the Lustian. Breakfast is served!

\- Horror made pancakes !” The madman almost drooling, imagining himself already sitting at the table in front of the food.

But their joy was short-lived when the atmosphere turned cold, and they swallowed simultaneously at the sight of Nightmare who rose very, very, very slowly, the crackling magic around him, his appendages releasing Dream to come and shake and slam the air.

The two intruders retreated:

“Okay, we'll keep a share!” Plum finally finished Plum before running away in a hurry, grabbing Killer's arm and dragging him along with him.

Nightmare grunted, annoyed to hear the duo's laughter rise in the corridor. Dream had a tender smile, straightened up in turn to come and put his head against the shoulder of his twin:

“Pancakes are fun.

\- ... Yeah ... Only with maple syrup.”

Dust yawned in his turn to come back to stick against Dream and mumble :

“Mm ... and whipped cream …”

A rustle was heard, and Cross finally woke up with a grimace, badly awake but aching - just as the Dream Keeper had predicted. He glanced sleepily at the trio on the bed, before he could hardly get up to climb on the mattress and drop his skull on Nightmare's lap:

“... I want chocolate …”he gibbered as he fell asleep again.

And Dream laughed again, savoring this quiet and intimate moment.

*** ***

“So they're not going to come to eat, as usual, Horror shouted, arms folded, while Plum came tenderly to massage his shoulders to comfort him.

\- Own my heart, they enjoy a moment with four, we can leave them that!

\- Pff, but I've gone to a lot of trouble myself!”

The Lustient pouffed and came to kiss his cheekbone:

“I know, and I'm going to take full advantage of it!”

To prove his point, he grabbed a fork and stuck a small piece of pancake in his mouth before moaning with pleasure - deliberately exaggerating his reaction while sticking more closely to his companion.

This made the cannibal blush and he quickly pulled Plum on his knees, before smiling mischievously:

“If you keep going, I'm going to eat you.

\- Oh, I'm looking forward to it!”

They exchanged a complicit glance, slowly bringing their faces closer together, while the glow in their eyes showed all their passion, this little game that would soon lead them to ...

“Find yourself a room!” exclaimed Color, whose face was completely red. He had reason to be embarrassed: he was sitting right in front of the couple and didn't miss a crumb of their ride! How embarrassing that was!

Plum and Horror stuck out their tongues at him before laughing and kissing without the slightest shame, embarrassing the colorful man who came to Killer for comfort:

“Killy, they're laughing at me !”

The madman was not of much help, laughing in turn without taking his boyfriend seriously, which caused Color to pout.

And sitting at the end of the table, watching all this little world squeaking, Error breathed a long, very long sigh, massaging his skull, already regretting having agreed to settle **officially** at the castle. But he had no choice. Already because he liked the bad guys, even if he didn't show it much, but also because Dream had chosen to settle here. And if Dream lived here, it was obvious ...

“RURU!”

... that Ink comes to live there too, not to let his best friend out of his sight for a single moment.

The Destroyer received his lover without the slightest harm, still grumbling under the weight of the Artist:

“Damn, you're so heavy!”

And Ink, who deliberately leaned more, sneered:

“You're supposed to say, 'Oh my love, I missed you!

\- I would never say that!

\- Oooown, you're cute when you're embarrassed!

\- Ink, shut up!”

The Creator laughed as he teleported himself away, narrowly dodging a blow from his lover, only to appear on the other side of the table to grab a pancake which he came to savor with delight, acknowledging without difficulty Horror's talent for cooking.

His attitude made the other skeletons present smile, as well as Dream who joined them shortly afterwards in the company of Dust, Nightmare and Cross. The pancakes left at such a speed that Horror was forced to make some more, fortunately with the help of Plum and - surprisingly - Dust, who in turn revealed their own little cooking talents.

In the midst of laughter and bickering, Dream was astonished:

“But ... Shattered is not there?”

However, his double was always one of the first lifts.

Nightmare shrugged and grunted:

“Maybe he went for a walk? I still can't believe you forced me to take him in.

\- Well, you're giving me a good home, so why not him?

\- Your unconsciousness will kill me Dream. For one thing, this guy is not my brother. Of two, I do not accommodate you, you **LIVE** here!”

The guardian of dreams laughed innocently while coming to embrace his twin:

“Olala, you're so grumpy in the morning!”

He stood up:

“But Shattered may come from another timeline, but he's still a version of me, so he's sort of your brother! I'm going to go get him!”

He waved to the congregation and left the room in a hurry, anxious for his other self. Shattered was a corrupt being, full of negative feelings, especially resentment and guilt. Dream was determined to help him, not to let him go now!

But fortunately he had no trouble finding it.

Shattered was just outside, right in front of the castle entrance, sitting on the stairs leading to the courtyard. His gaze was focused on the whole of Dreamtale, as if he was rediscovering the world that had given birth to him. And this was surely the case, since the Dreamtale of their childhood no longer resembled the one they had known. Probably because the way he looked at it today was that of an adult.

Dream was just as moved by it, which is why he took all the delicacy in the world to come and sit next to the other guardian, without allowing himself to speak - which would surely have broken that moment of calm.

It was Shattered who took the initiative to launch the discussion:

“What do you want?”

The little dream shyly smiles at him:

“We are having lunch. Care to join us?

\- ... Mm-hmm... I'm not very hungry.”

New silence, but both of them savored this moment, this moment when there was not the slightest tension in the air, when they did not feel oppressed, just ... liberated.

“... It's strange to come back here, even if it's not MY Dreamtale ... Shattered confessed Shattered, nervously coming to play with one of his tentacles. But most of all, to live there again as if nothing had happened, to see everybody talking to me quietly as if it was natural …”

He added grumbling:

“Well, if you except for that jerk Nightmare. It seems he's just as stupid, no matter what the timeline …”

Dream elbowed him lightly while puffing:

“Hey, don't talk like that about our brothers! They're just a little rough and clumsy!

\- Just a little?”

They laughed at the same time, exchanging a brief complicit smile before returning to contemplating the landscape:

“... Seriously ... resumed the broken dream. I feel that I am disturbing. No one will be able to forget what I did.

\- No, it's true, no one will be able to forget ... but if I could forgive you, others will as well.”

He put a comforting hand on Shattered's shoulder:

“So stop standing back like that and come and eat! Horror's pancakes are really delicious, you'll regret it if you don't taste them!”

The other raised his eyes to the sky:

“All right, I get it, let's go!”

And they both got up to return to the castle, while the soft rays of the sun came to illuminate Dreamtale to announce the arrival of a beautiful, beautiful day.

  
  


**[THE END]**

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is over, thanks for following it!


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